THE  THUNDERBOLT 


THE 

THUNDERBOLT 


BY 
G.  COLMORE 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  SELTZER 

1920 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
THOMAS  SELTZER,  IMC. 

All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED    IN    THE    TUTTED    STATES    Or    AMERICA 


TO 
A.   W.  L. 

WITH  WHOM    I   HAVE   OFTEN   DISCUSSED 
THE    PLACE    OF   FACT   IN    FICTION.    I 
DEDICATE    A    PIECE   OF   FICTION 
WHICH  OWES  BOTH  ITS  CON- 
CEPTION AND  ITS  CLIMAX 
TO  FACT 


2134832 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 


PAGE 

NURSE      

...           1 

BOOK  II 

THE  SUBSTITUTES    

...     75 

BOOK  III 

MlSS    KlMMIDGE         

.     .     .143 

BOOK  IV 

LADY  CLEMENTINA  

.     .     .193 

BOOK  V 

LEN  AND  DORRIB     

...  223 

BOOK  VI 

GERMANY       

...  245 

BOOK  VII 

AUGUSTINE    

...  281 

BOOK  VIII 

...  315 

BOOK  I 
NURSE 

CHAPTER  I 

GEORGINA  Bonham  was  devoted  to  her  little 
girl;  so  everybody  said,  and  said,  too,  that 
the  devotion  was  not  surprising. 

For  Dorrie — Doris  was  her  name — was  a  most 
attractive  child;  fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  soft- 
cheeked,  kissable,  and  with  no  objection  to  being 
kissed.  Moreover  she  was  the  sole  legacy  left  to 
Georgina  by  her  dead  husband  and  his  very  image, 
said  everybody  again — the  limited  everybody  who 
had  known  him.  He  too  had  been  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed  and  smooth  of  skin ;  rumour  had  it  that 
he  also  had  been  receptive  in  regard  to  kisses,  and 
not  only  receptive  but  prone  to  initiative. 

Mrs.  Bonham  herself  was  somewhat  sallow,  dark 
of  eye  and  with  smooth  dark  abundant  hair.  Her 
features  were  rounded  and  calm,  and  so  was  her 
bosom.  She  conveyed  an  impression  of  ampli- 
tude and  stability.  In  the  town  in  which  she  lived, 
a  moderate-sized  market  town,  she  was  one  of  the 
pillars  in  society's  highest  storey.  Her  name  was 
on  all  committees ;  her  hand,  at  every  tea-meeting, 
held  a  teapot  or  manipulated  an  urn;  her  figure 
was  never  absent  from  the  corner  seat  of  her  pew 

i 


2  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

in  the  parish  church,  save  on  the  score  of  indispo- 
sition. And  this  was  rare,  since  except  for  an 
occasional  headache  she  had  good  health. 

Mrs.  Bonham  lived  in  a  nice  house  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  and  at  the  back  of  the  house  was 
a  fair-sized  garden,  nicely  kept.  Everything 
about  her  was  nice;  the  house  linen,  her  clothes, 
the  white-tiled  bathroom,  the  trim  casement  cur- 
tains. People  liked  to  go  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham,  because,  they  said,  she  had  such  nice  teas,  and 
they  liked  talking  to  her  because  she  had  such  nice 
ideas.  Both  her  teas  and  her  ideas  were  pleasant 
in  the  sense  that  they  were  never  disturbing — 
save  only  in  so  far  as  disturbance  may  arise  from 
plethora;  and  as  Georgina's  friends  were  rarely 
indiscreet  in  appetite  and  not  too  avid  of  conver- 
sation, surfeit  in  regard  to  her  admirable  fare  was 
next  door  to  unknown  and  in  regard  to  her  opti- 
mism non-existent. 

For  Mrs.  Bonham  was  an  optimist;  assuming 
that  God  was  in  His  heaven,  she  assumed  also  that 
all  was  right  with  the  world.  In  this,  as  in  every- 
thing else,  experience — her  own  experience — was 
her  guide.  God,  in  church,  was  represented  by  the 
vicar,  a  sound  and  fluent  preacher;  outside  the 
church  by  the  mayor,  the  police  and  the  doctor; 
and  none  of  these,  in  the  discharge  of  their  several 
offices,  had  she  ever  found  occasion  to  criticize. 

She  had  many  friends,  for  she  was  kind,  and  also 
circumspectly  generous ;  she  gave  sometimes  hand- 
some and  never  trashy  presents,  helped  deserving 
cases,  and  subscribed  to  well-established  charities. 


NURSE  3 

Friends  she  had  and  acquaintances;  also  distant 
admirers  whom  she  spoke  to  at  meetings  and  phil- 
anthropic gatherings,  but  who  were  not  sufficiently 
high  in  the  social  scale  to  be  admitted  to  her  set; 
and  besides  these,  one  particular  friend,  who  was 
also  her  philosopher  and  guide. 

This  was  a  retired  physician,  a  native  of  the 
town,  who  had  practised  in  London,  but  had  re- 
turned to  Stottleham  to  live  at  ease  on  the  proceeds 
of  his  own  savings  and  his  father's  small  fortune. 
He  was  a  man  interested  in  botany  and  the  collect- 
ing of  prints;  considerably  older  than  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham,  and  representative  to  her  of  what  was  essen- 
tial in  humanity  and  civilization.  His  beard,  close 
cut,  was  perfectly  trimmed,  his  linen  was  spotless, 
his  hands  and  nails  were  scrupulously  clean.  His 
clothes  were  as  well  cut  as  his  beard ;  his  house  was 
well  appointed;  he  lived  in  comfort,  but  without 
ostensible  luxury.  To  be  sure  he  never  went  to 
church  except  on  Christmas  Day  and  at  Easter,  but 
then  he  was  a  man,  so  it  did  not  matter :  had  he  had 
a  wife,  he  would,  Georgina  felt  assured,  have  in- 
sisted upon  her  regular  attendance.  His  manner 
pleased  her ;  in  it  was  that  mixture  of  deference  to 
her  sex  and  sense  of  superiority  in  his  own  which 
connoted  the,  to  her,  typically  correct  male  atti- 
tude. It  goes  without  saying  that  he  had  no  obvi- 
ous vices. 

Besides  these  indispensable  qualifications,  posi- 
tive and  negative,  he  possessed  a  wisdom  which 
always  perceived  not  only  on  which  side  Geor- 
gina's  bread  was  buttered — her  own  common  sense 


4  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

was  sufficient  guide  for  that — but  on  which  portions 
of  loaves,  as  yet  uncut,  butter  would  probably  be 
spread.  It  was  as  to  the  uncut  loaves  that  she 
invariably  consulted  him. 

He  consulted  her  when  he  wanted  fresh  chintz 
for  his  drawing-room,  or  new  linoleum  for  the  hall. 
Georgina  knew  by  instinct  when  a  colour  was 
"fast":  she  also  knew  the  kind  of  pattern  suitable 
for  the  house  of  a  bachelor  who  occasionally  asked 
ladies  to  tea. 

In  1898  Mrs.  Bonham  was  thirty-three,  Carter 
Eayke  was  forty-eight,  and  Doris  was  six. 


CHAPTER  H 

Doris  being  six,  it  seemed  to  Georgina  that  she 
was  getting,  if  not  beyond  the  nursery, ,  yet  cer- 
tainly beyond  Nurse.  Not  in  the  sense  that  Nurse 
could  not  manage  her,  for  Nurse  had  managed 
her — without  any  appearance  of  management — 
with  obvious  ease  ever  since  she  was  six  weeks 
old.  But  Nurse  did  not  speak  grammatically,  she 
had  an  accent  not  free  from  Cockney  twang,  and 
she  mismanaged  her  aitches  with  the  same  thor- 
oughness with  which  she  managed  Dorrie.  When 
Mrs.  Bonham  decided  that  Dorrie  was  getting  be- 
yond Nurse,  what  she  meant  was  that  Nurse's  man- 
ners and  deportment  were  not  of  a  kind  upon  which 
the  imitative  Dorrie  could  be  permitted  to  model 
herself. 

There  were,  however,  two  obstacles  against  tak- 


NUESE  5 

ing  Dorrie  out  of  the  hands  of  Nurse:  one  was 
Nurse 's  devotion  to  Dorrie ;  the  other  was  Dorrie 's 
devotion  to  Nurse.  The  latter  was  the  more  diffi- 
cult to  deal  with.  It  would  of  course  be  painful  to 
send  Nurse  away,  inasmuch  as  the  parting  would 
be  painful  to  Nurse.  But  nurses  must  expect  to 
part  from  their  nurslings ;  partings  were  included 
in  their  calling;  a  woman  of  any  pretensions  to 
common  sense  would  be  prepared  for  dismissal 
any  day  after  the  child  she  had  brought  up  had 
reached  the  age  of  five;  and  Dorrie  was  six. 
Nurse  therefore,  though  grieved,  as  was  natural 
and  indeed  proper,  would  accept  the  situation. 

The  real  difficulty  was  in  regard  to  Dorrie.  Her 
mother  had  every  reason  to  fear  that  not  only 
would  she  not  accept  the  situation,  but  that  she 
would  kick  against  it.  Not  in  a  literal  sense  and 
not  with  violence,  for  Dorrie  was  extraordinarily 
un-disagreeable,  but  in  the  disconcerting  fashion 
of  making  herself  ill.  Every  time  that  Nurse  had 
a  holiday,  Dorrie  refused  to  go  to  sleep  until 
Nurse  had  returned,  had  tucked  the  clothes  round 
her — with  no  difference  in  the  tucking  from  the 
tucking  performed  by  Georgina  herself — and  had 
kissed  her  good-night.  And  once — a  dreadful 
once,  when  Nurse  had  perforce  gone  home  for  a 
week  to  tend  a  sick  mother — Dorrie  had  fretted 
till  she  was  sick.  It  was  absurd,  of  course,  all  of 
it,  the  lying  awake,  the  falling  asleep  the  instant 
Nurse  had  proved  her  presence,  the  fretting  and 
the  pining;  absurd  and  annoying.  But  there  it 
was. 


6  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

The  question  was,  in  face  of  the  facts,  how  to 
make  the  necessary  change;  and  the  more  Mrs. 
Bonham  thought  about  it  the  more  necessary  it 
seemed  to  be;  the  very  exaggeration  of  Dome's 
devotion  emphasized  the  necessity.  Georgina 
turned  over  the  situation  in  her  own  mind,  and 
having  decided  that  it  must  be  dealt  with,  took,  in 
regard  to  methods  of  dealing,  her  usual  course; 
that  is  to  say  she  wrote  to  Dr.  Eayke  and  asked 
him  to  come  to  tea. 


DOCTOB, 

"I  am  in  a  difficulty  and  should  be  so  glad  of 
your  kind  advice.  Can  you  find  time  to  take  tea 
with  me  to-morrow  afternoon?  Any  time  after 
four  o  'clock  would  suit  me.  Please  send  word  by 
bearer,  and  if  to-morrow  is  not  convenient,  kindly 
fix  some  other  day.  On  hearing  from  you,  I  will 
arrange  accordingly. 

"Always  yours  sincerely, 

"GEORGINA  BONHAM." 

The  note  was  dispatched  at  twelve  o'clock  on 
Tuesday,  and  by  half  -past  twelve  bearer,  who  was, 
indeed,  the  unconscious  Nurse,  had  brought  back  a 
reply. 

'  '  DEAR  MBS.  BONHAM, 

"I  am,  as  always,  at  your  service.  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  wait  upon  you  to-morrow  afternoon  at 
4.15,  and  add  to  your  feminine  intuition  such  prac- 
tical counsel  as  I  am  capable  of. 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"CARTER  EAYKE." 


NURSE  7 

Mrs.  Bonham  read  the  note  with  satisfaction, 
and  began  to  " arrange  accordingly."  There  was, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  only  one  arrangement  she 
could  make  on  that  same  day,  and  she  made  it 
forthwith.  She  went  into  the  kitchen  and  ordered 
the  cook  to  make,  as  early  in  the  afternoon  as  pos- 
sible, a  currant  and  sultana  cake.  It  was  the  kind 
of  cake  the  Doctor  liked  best,  and  he  liked  his  cake 
to  be  a  day  old,  or,  as  Georgina  phrased  it,  made 
the  day  before. 

On  this,  the  day  before,  there  was  nothing  fur- 
ther to  be  done,  and  after  lunch,  having  rested  for 
half  an  hour  and  changed  her  dress,  she  set  out  for 
the  Needlework  Guild  Meeting  with  a  compara- 
tively quiet  mind. 


CHAPTEE  III 

The  Needlework  Guild  was  conducted  under  the 
combined  dictatorship  of  Georgina  Bonham  and 
Mrs.  Vearing,  the  Vicar's  wife.  Its  object  was  to 
provide  underclothes  for  the  poor  of  a  London 
East  End  parish,  and  the  minimum  of  its  activi- 
ties was  to  finish  a  hundred  articles  as  the  result 
of  weekly  meetings  between  the  October  of  one 
year  and  Easter  of  the  next.  Members  who  failed 
in  attendance  were  required  to  supply  completed 
articles,  varying  in  number  according  to  the  num- 
ber of  attendances  missed,  and  in  kind  according 
to  the  tables  to  which  severally  they  belonged. 

For    the    work    was    systematically    divided. 


8  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

There  was  a  petticoat  table,  a  nightgown  table,  a 
chemise  table,  and  a  table  for  what  the  wearers 
of  the  articles  called  drawers,  and  the  ladies  who 
made  them  knickerbockers.  In  command  of  each 
of  these  tables  was  a  lady,  distinguished  not  only 
by  the  fact  that  her  seat  was  at  the  head  of  it, 
but  by  a  badge  worn  over  the  left  breast;  and  in 
supreme  authority,  supervising  the  tables,  cutting 
out,  folding  up,  scrutinizing  the  work  and  passing 
or  rejecting  it,  were  Mrs.  Vearing  and  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham.  They  sat — or  more  often  stood — at  a  table 
apart,  and  while  their  judgment  was  sometimes 
inwardly  or  whisperingly  questioned,  it  was  never 
openly  defied.  Custom  and  social  standing  alike 
supported  them ;  they  were  foremost  amongst  the 
leaders,  perhaps  the  leaders  of  Stottleham  society, 
and  it  was  better  to  have  a  chemise  turned  back 
than  to  be  left  out  of  a  social  function. 

Greorgina  to-day  was  a  little  late.  She  had 
paused  at  the  greengrocer  and  fruiterer's  to  buy 
a  bunch  of  violets  for  Mrs.  Vearing.  There  were 
usually  cut  flowers  mingled  with  the  fruit  and  vege- 
tables in  this,  the  principal  shop  of  its  kind,  and 
glancing  at  the  window  as  she  passed,  Georgina 
saw  violets  as  well  as  cabbages  and  oranges.  She 
had  had  no  intention  of  presenting  Mrs.  Vearing 
with  flowers  when  she  set  out  from  home;  but 
after  a  period  of  uncertainty  and  perturbation, 
she  was  feeling  relieved  by  the  prospect  of  to- 
morrow's conference,  and  the  relief  found  expres- 
sion in  buying  a  bunch  of  violets  and  giving  them 
to  Mrs.  Vearing. 


NURSE  9 

"What  a  delicious  smell  of  spring!"  said  Mrs. 
Vearing,  as  Georgina  entered  the  Parish  Boom. 
"Oh,  it's  violets.  How  sweet!" 

Georgina,  with  a  smile,  said :  ' l  They  're  for  you. 
I  know  you  like  them.  They  caught  my  eye  as  I 
came  past  Merriman's." 

"How  lovely  of  you!  I  adore  them.  But  it's 
just  like  you,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham." 

Through  the  room  went  a  murmuring  echo  to 
the  effect  that  it  was  just  like  Mrs.  Bonham  to 
buy  violets  and  give  them  to  somebody  who  adored 
them.  Only  Miss  Truefitt  sniffed :  her  sniff  meant : 
"Who  wouldn't  buy  violets  if  threepence  meant 
no  more  to  them  than  it  does  to  Mrs.  Bonham  ?" 

Mrs.  Bonham,  however,  heard  only  the  murmur 
and  not  the  sniff.  She  took  off  her  coat  and  re- 
joined Mrs.  Vearing,  feeling  as  if  she  had  done 
something  rather  nice,  and  trying  to  look  as  if  she 
thought  she  hadn't. 

Mrs.  Vearing  presented  her  with  an  enormous 
pair  of  scissors. 

"They're  running  short  at  the  chemise  table," 
she  said,  "and  I've  kept  the  fresh  roll  of  calico 
for  you.  You  cut  them  so  much  better  than  I 
do."  In  a  lower  voice  she  added:  "When  they've 
all  got  talking  again,  there's  something  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  about." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't."  Georgina  spoke  more 
loudly  than  was  her  wont.  Then  she  too  dropped 
her  voice,  murmuring:  "All  right." 

The  two  conspirators  proceeded  to  discuss  chem- 
ises, and  their  measurements,  Mrs.  Vearing  help- 


10  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

ing  to  undo  the  fresh  roll  of  unbleached  calico, 
and  Georgina  busy  with  the  scissors:  then,  when 
presently  the  tongues  at  the  tables  were  busy,  they 
again  became  low-voiced  and  confidential. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  Georgina  asked. 

Mrs.  Vearing  gave  a  cautious  glance  at  the  near- 
est table;  it  was  the  knickerbocker  table. 

"You  know  Mrs.  Robinson  is  leaving  Stottle- 
ham,  I  suppose?" 

Georgina  nodded,  partly  from  caution,  partly  be- 
cause she  had  a  pin  in  her  mouth. 

Mrs.  Vearing  gave  a  glance  round  the  tables. 
Scraps  of  conversation  emerged  from  the  blurred 
hum  of  the  voices. 

" — a  gold  band  round  the  two  that  stick  out, 
and  I  was  to  take  her  back  in  three  months." 
" — quite  good  enough — ninepence  three-farthings 
and  washes  like  a  rag."  "I  couldn't  put  up  with 
it  any  longer  and  told  her  so,  and  she  said  ..." 
" — jellies  beautifully.  I  had  the  receipt  from  a 
friend  in  Yorkshire." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "whom  to 
put  in  her  place." 

It  was  Georgina 's  turn  to  glance  round  the 
tables :  her  glance  was  one  not  so  much  of  caution 
as  of  scrutiny:  it  paused  momentarily  here  and 
there  in  its  survey. 

"There  are  one  or  two,  aren't  there?"  she  asked. 
"Mrs.  Dicks  and  Miss " 

"That's  just  it;  I  don't  know  which  to  choose. 
If  I  take  one,  the  other '11  be  offended." 

Mrs.  Bonham  paused  in  her  cutting.    "Let  me 


NURSE  11 

see !  Mrs.  Robinson's  on  the  committee,  isn't  she, 
as  well  as  head  of  the  knickerbockers?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  couldn't  we  put  Mrs.  Dicks  on  the  com- 
mittee and  make  Miss  Debenham  head?  No  one 
can  expect — at  least  it's  absurd  if  they  do " 

"It  would  be  all  right  as  far  as  it  goes,  but 
there's  Mrs.  Markham.  I  know  she  thought  she 
ought  to  have  been  put  at  the  head  of  the  night- 
gowns instead  of  Miss  Pottlebury." 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought — Mrs.  Markham  al- 
ways seems  so  pleasant " 

"Oh,  but  I  know.  It  came  round  to  me — 
through  Mrs.  Ansell.  She  complained  to  Mrs. 
Pitt,  and  Mrs.  Pitt  told  Mrs.  Ansell,  and  Mrs. 
Ansell  told  me — in  confidence  of  course." 

"What  a  worry  they  are!" 

' '  She  said  she  didn  't  know  what  Miss  Pottlebury 
had  done  more  than  she'd  done,"  Mrs.  Vearing 
went  on  in  a  rush  of  whispers.  "She  didn't  know 
why  she,  a  married  woman,  should  be  lorded  over 
by  Miss  Pottlebury.  You  know  the  way  they 
talk." 

"Miss  Pottlebury  is  rather  domineering,"  ob- 
served Georgina  judiciously. 

"Well,  we  can't  change  her;  that  would  make 
more  bother  than  ever.  Once  head  they  've  got  to 

stay  head.  And  so  few "  Mrs.  Vearing 

sighed.  " — so  few  resign." 

Mrs.  Bonham  continued  to  cut  for  about  half  a 
minute  in  reflective  silence ;  then  she  stopped  short 
and  put  down  the  scissors. 


12  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"Why  not  change  the  system  altogether!"  she 
said.  "Why  not  appoint  them  just  for  one  ses- 
sion, and  give  them  all  a  turn! — all  that  could  be 
heads,  I  mean  of  course." 

The  boldness  of  the  suggested  reform  struck 
Mrs.  Vearing  dumb.  When  she  spoke  it  was  in 
gasps. 

"But,"  she  said,  "it's  never — been  like  that — 
all  these  years." 

"I  don't  see  any  other  way,"  Mrs.  Bonham  said, 
1 '  of  not  giving  offence — at  least  not  to  so  many. ' ' 

"I  believe  you're  right,"  Mrs.  Vearing  said,  "I 
believe  you  are.  Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  you  always 
have  such  good  ideas." 

In  her  excitement  her  voice  had  risen;  the  last 
sentence  was  in  a  high  key  and  a  loud  tone;  and 
all  over  the  room  inquiring  heads  were  turned, 
wondering  what  was  Mrs.  Bonham 's  latest  idea. 
Did  it  outdo  the  violets? 

Curiosity,  however,  remained  unsatisfied. 

"We  will  discuss  it  some  other  time,"  Mrs. 
Vearing  said  with  a  sudden  drop  of  her  voice  to  a 
whisper. 

She  left  her  seat  to  make  a  tour  of  inspection. 
Mrs.  Bonham  took  measurements  for  another 
chemise. 

CHAPTER  IV 

Mrs.  Bonham  and  Mrs.  Vearing  walked  a  little 
bit  of  the  way  home  together,  to  the  point  at  which 
Bear  Street,  in  which  was  the  Parish  Room,  joined 


NURSE  13 

the  High  Street.  Mrs.  Vearing  had  said:  "Do 
come  back  to  tea  with  me  and  let  us  talk  the  tables 
out!"  but  Mrs.  Bonham  was  obdurate;  she  had 
promised  Dorrie  to  be  home  by  half -past  four,  and 
she  never  disappointed  Dorrie. 

"Another  day,"  Georgina  said,  "Thursday  or 
Friday  if  you  like.  To-morrow  I  am  engaged." 

Mrs.  Vearing,  disappointed  but  subdued,  for  she 
felt  that  against  Mrs.  Bonham 's  decision  there  was 
no  appeal,  grasped  at  Thursday,  and  turned  down 
the  High  Street,  somewhat  consoled,  to  unbosom 
herself  to  the  Vicar  and  to  put  her  violets  in  water. 
They  were  -already  beginning  to  flag. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  taking  her  way  up  the  street,  was 
calmly  content  in  the  consciousness  of  a  satisfac- 
tory afternoon.  She  had  been  kind  to  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing and  pleasant  to  the  many  members  of  the  Guild 
who  had  clustered  round  her  after  the  meeting  and 
offered  to  help  her  on  with  her  coat :  she  had  given 
good  advice  and  had  shown  herself  to  be  top  dog 
in  general  capability.  Mrs.  Bonham  did  not  make 
use  of  the  term  top  dog,  nor  did  she  analyse  the 
various  small  tributaries  which  composed  the 
stream  of  her  content ;  but  a  general  sense  of  top- 
doggishness  inspired  her  mood  and  gave  a  brisk- 
ness to  her  mental  demeanour. 

She  walked  slowly,  for  the  High  Street  sloped 
upwards,  and  the  spring  air,  sweet  and  soft,  was 
a  little  exhausting.  Moreover  she  had  plenty  of 
time.  Half -past  four  she  had  said  to  Dorrie,  and 
it  was  not  much  past  the  quarter.  Otherwise  she 
would  have  hurried  in  spite  of  the  spring  languor ; 


14  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

she  would  have  reached  home  panting  rather  than 
disappoint  Dorrie. 

Dorrie  came  first  with  her,  before  everything 
and  everybody.  Her  strongest  desire  was  to  be 
first  with  Dorrie.  She  thought  she  was  first — 
she  was  sure  of  it.  Nevertheless  there  was  a 
little  secret  unadmitted  doubt  which,  inadmissible, 
was  also  better  untested,  a  little  tiny  shadow  of  a 
doubt  lest  Dorrie,  should  Georgina  be  a  few  min- 
utes late,  might  not  be  so  dreadfully  disappointed 
after  all.  Not  that  she  questioned  Dorrie 's  devo- 
tion to  her,  or  the  warmth  of  Dorrie 's  welcome; 
but  Dorrie  was  always  happy  when  Nurse  was 
there,  and  Nurse  of  course  was  there — Nurse  was 
always  there.  It  was  a  distinctly  agreeable 
thought  that  Dr.  Rayke  was  coming  on  the  mor- 
row to  arrange  the  paving  of  the  way  for  Nurse's 
abdication. 

Arrived  at  home  Dorrie,  in  answer  to  Georgina 's 
call,  came  rushing  to  greet  her.  Dome's  cheeks 
were  flushed  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"Had  a  nice  afternoon,  darling?" 

"  'Lightful." 

"What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"Playing  with  Nurse." 

"You're  getting  rather  big  now  to  play  with 
Nurse." 

They  went  hand  in  hand  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  there  was  a  mingled  smell  of  hyacinths  and 
polished  floor.  It  was  "turning  out"  day  for  the 
drawing-room,  and  everything  was  at  high-water 
mark  of  cleanliness  and  order. 


NURSE  15 

"Bather  too  big.  Don't  you  think  so?"  said 
Mrs.  Bonham. 

1  'I'm  not  'normous,"  Dorrie  said  with  a  little 
pucker  of  the  brows. 

"Not  enormous,  no,  I  know."  Mrs.  Bonham 
smiled.  "But  too  big  to  play  with  Nurse.  It's 
only  babies  who  play  with  nurses.  You  don't 
want  to  stay  a  baby,  do  you,  Dorrie?" 

Dorrie  did  not  answer  the  question :  she  changed 
the  subject. 

"Cook  gave  me  currants,"  she  said. 

The  kitchen  was  out  of  bounds  according  to  Mrs. 
Bonham 's  code,  but  diplomacy  demanded  compro- 
mises. So  all  she  said  was:  "How  kind  of 
Cook!" 

"She  was  making  a  cake  for  Uncle  Bayke." 

"How  ever  did  she — why  should  she  suppose  it 
was  for  Uncle  Bayke  ? ' ' 

"Is  it?"  asked  Dorrie. 

"Yes,  but " 

Mrs.  Bonham  stopped,  partly  because  it  was  im- 
possible to  explain  to  Dorrie  why,  though  the  cake 
actually  was  for  the  entertainment  of  Dr.  Bayke, 
it  was  outrageous  of  Cook  to  have  taken  the  fact 
for  granted,  and  partly  because  Janet,  the  parlour- 
maid, came  in  with  the  tea-tray. 

*  *  Cook 's  real  name  is  Gladys, ' '  said  Dorrie.  '  *  I 
know  because  she  said  so.  Did  you  know, 
Mummy?" 

"I'm  not  sure — I  don't  remember." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Georgina  did  not  know. 
When  she  had  applied  for  Cook's  character,  she 


16  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

had  presented  her  compliments  to  Cook's  former 
employer  and  stated  that  she  would  be  obliged  by 
information  as  to  whether  G.  Jawkins  was  honest, 
sober,  etc.,  and  she  had  never  got  the  length  of 
inquiring  whether  G.  stood  for  Gladys,  Gertrude 
or  Grace.  But  at  the  moment  her  thoughts  were 
unconcerned  with  Cook's  name  and  intent  upon 
her  subtlety.  It  had  not  occurred  to  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  that  a  currant  and  sultana  cake  made  "the 
day  before"  was  inevitably  associated  in  the  mind 
of  the  kitchen  with  the  advent  of  Dr.  Eayke  on  the 
day  after.  Accustomed  herself  to  put  two  and 
two  together,  she  was  disposed  to  regard  it  as  im- 
pertinence on  the  part  of  Cook  to  make  the  same 
simple  calculation,  and  especially  to  bring  out  the 
result  as  four:  if  Cook  did  presume  to  tackle  nu- 
merical problems,  she  should  at  least  have  the 
grace  to  abstain  from  correct  solutions.  Of  course 
there  was  no  reason  why  every  inmate  of  the 
kitchen  should  not  know  that  Dr.  Rayke  was  com- 
ing to  tea ;  it  was  a  quite  ordinary  and  fairly  fre- 
quent occurrence;  nevertheless  it  somehow  an- 
noyed Mrs.  Bonham  that  what  was  by  her  unstated 
should,  by  her  household,  be  taken  for  granted. 

"I  think  Gladys  is  a  pretty  name,"  Dorrie  went 
on.  * '  Don 't  you,  Mummy  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  very,"  said  Georgina  absently. 

"It's  almost  prettier  than  Cook  is.  But  Cook's 
rather  pretty — the  top  part  of  her.  She  sings  too 
— nice  long  songs. ' ' 

Janet  had  left  the  room  and  Mrs.  Bonham 
poured  herself  out  a  cup  of  tea,  considering  in  her 


NURSE  17 

mind  how  to  escape  from  the  Scylla  of  Nurse  with- 
out foundering  on  the  Charybdis  of  Cook.  Dorrie, 
unanswered,  proceeded  to  criticize  Charybdis. 

"Only  she's  too  fat.  She  comes  out  like  you, 
Mummy,  but  she  doesn't  go  in  again.  It  looks 
nicer  to  go  in  again,  don't  you  think  so,  Mummy?" 

Georgina  answered  at  last.  "Darling,"  she 
said,  "I  think  you've  talked  enough  about  Cook." 

Dorrie  accepted  the  suggestion:  she  at  once 
abandoned  Cook. 

"Me  and  Nurse "  she  began,  but  Georgina 

interrupted  her. 

"I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  cake  if  you  sit  down 
quietly  and  don't  make  crumbs  on  the  carpet,  and 
then  I'll  read  to  you." 

Mrs.  Bonham  did  not  approve  of  eating  between 
meals  and  Dorrie  had  already  had  her  tea ;  more- 
over Mrs.  Bonham  had  a  letter  to  write  which  she 
had  intended  to  dispatch  by  the  evening  post.  But 
what  was  she  to  do?  What  could  anybody  do? 
The  child  was  incorrigible.  Would  Dr.  Bayke  be 
able  to  do  anything?  Georgina  clung  to  to-mor- 
row. It  was  safe  to  cling ;  he  never  failed  her,  had 
never  failed  yet,  in  the  keeping  of  an  appointment. 
All  the  same  it  was  absurd  of  Cook  .  .  .  really  life 
was  very  trying,  and  it  was  difficult  to  steer  one 's 
way.  .  .  . 

"The  story  I  like  best,"  said  Dorrie,  "is  'The 
Mermaid.'  So  does  Nurse." 


18  THE  THUNDERBOLT 


CHAPTER  V 

To-morrow  came ;  and  also  Dr.  Rayke. 

He  came,  almost  to  the  minute,  at  four-fifteen, 
and  his  punctuality  was  a  blessing  inasmuch  as  it 
spared  Mrs.  Bonham  the  fussiness  of  waiting  and 
of  listening  for  the  bell.  Not  that  his  presence  or 
the  expectation  of  his  presence  excited  her ;  it  was 
a  presence  she  had  never  found  other  than  tran- 
quillizing; it  was  not  the  man,  but  the  subject  she 
was  to  discuss  with  the  man,  which  gave  her  the 
fidgets — or  would  have  given  her  the  fidgets,  had 
he  been  more  than  two  minutes  after  the  appointed 
hour. 

Would  he  understand  after  all?  This  was  the 
half-formulated  doubt  that  disturbed  her.  A 
man's  judgment  was  sounder  than  a  woman's, 
his  counsel — generally  speaking — more  reliable. 
Still,  there  were  things  that  men  somehow  didn't 
seem  to  get  the  ins  and  outs  of :  Georgina  was  not 
sure  that  her  present  perplexity  was  not  one  of 
them.  And  if  he  didn't  understand — of  his  own 
accord,  spontaneously — it  might  be  difficult  to 
make  him  see  the  point.  If 

Oh,  there  was  the  bell  and  here  he  was ! 

He  came  in  with  the  kind  smile  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  and  the  kindest  look  in  his  eyes.  He 
brought  her  a  small  bunch  of  orchids.  He  grew 
orchids  for  the  purpose  of  studying  them. 

How  kind  of  him!  said  Mrs.  Bonham.  Would 
Janet  bring  a  vase,  please — the  opal  glass  one. 


NURSE  19 

Orchids  were  such  wonderful  things.  And  how 
about  the  window?  Should  they  leave  it  open  or 
would  he  feel  the  draught?  His  throat — she  knew 
it  was  delicate. 

"Oh,  leave  it  open,  please,"  said  Rayke.  "My 
throat's  as  right  as  rain,  and  it's  a  real  spring 
day — what  one  imagines  at  least  as  spring.  For 
we  very  seldom  get  it,  do  we?" 

"Very  seldom,"  said  Georgina,  "very  seldom 
indeed." 

She  told  herself  that  it  was  absurd  to  be  nervous, 
but  was  nervous  nevertheless.  Supposing  he 
didn't  understand?  thought  her  difficulty  trivial, 
and  Georgina  trivial  for  troubling  over  it?  sup- 
posing he  didn't  see,  with  his  man's  vision,  that 
there  was  a  difficulty?  She  fiddled  with  the  or- 
chids, arranging  them  this  way  and  that.  She  did 
not  quite  know  how  to  begin. 

"How's  Dorrie?"  asked  Rayke. 

She  could  not  take  the  lead  he  gave  her,  for 
Janet,  in  a  minute  or  two  now,  would  be  coming 
in  with  the  tea;  and  to  begin  and  then  be  inter- 
rupted .  .  .  no,  she  must  wait. 

So  she  said  Dorrie  was  all  right,  and  then — once 
more — what  wonderful  things  orchids  were. 

Mrs.  Vearing,  could  she  have  seen  her  now, 
would  have  marvelled.  This  was  not  the  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  she  knew,  of  calm  and  assured  demeanour, 
not  the  Mrs.  Bonham  admired  of  Stottleham.  Nor 
was  this,  for  the  matter  of  that,  Dr.  Rayke 's  Mrs. 
Bonham,  nor  indeed  Georgina 's  own  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham :  it  was,  so  to  speak,  a  spurious  Mrs.  Bonham, 


20  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

• 

the  product  of  a  concatenation  of  circumstances, 
unexampled  hitherto,  and,  presumably,  never  to 
occur  again.  And  in  all  the  concatenation,  the  one 
item  which  made  Georgina  nervous  was  the  doubt, 
arising  just  before  his  ring  at  the  bell,  as  to 
whether  Dr.  Rayke  would — could  understand. 

How  absurd  of  her  to  doubt !  how  foolish !  how — 
when  you  came  to  think  of  it — how  unworthy! 
For  of  course  he  understood.  It  really  had  been 
positively  disloyal  of  her,  a  lack  of  understanding 
on  her  own  part,  ever  to  have  questioned  the  ca- 
pacity of  his  comprehension.  This  was  the  sub- 
stance of  the  mood,  of  the  tide  of  reaction  which 
followed  close  upon  the  period  of  nervous  doubt. 

For  over  his  first  cup  of  tea,  at  the  scone  stage, 
before  ever  the  cake  was  even  cut,  Dr.  Eayke  mas- 
tered the  situation,  with  all  its  complexities  and  its 
resulting  problem.  Munching  cake — and  the  cake 
was  excellent,  one  of  Cook's  triumphs — he  ex- 
pressed his  sympathy,  recapitulated  the  position, 
and  emphasized  the  salient  points.  Finally,  smok- 
ing a  cigarette  by  the  open  window  (Georgina  did 
not  like  smoke  in  the  drawing-room,  but  the  situa- 
tion was  unusual  and  important,  and  the  window 
was  open ;  she  begged  the  Doctor  to  smoke  and  not 
to  retire  to  the  dining-room  to  do  it),  smoking  by 
the  open  window,  looking  out  on  the  green  spring 
lawn,  on  the  crocuses  in  the  neat  beds  dying  off  and 
the  daffodils  coming  on,  Dr.  Rayke  propounded  his 
solution  of  the  difficulty. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Georgina 's  mood 
changed  once  again,  that  the  tide  of  her  relief  and 


NURSE  21 

confidence  received  a  check.  She  was  not  nerv- 
ous any  more,  but  the  elation  provided  by  her 
friend 's  comprehending  friendliness  was  damped : 
frankly,  she  did  not  like  his  solution.  At  first 
sight,  at  first  hearing,  all  that  was  contumacious  in 
her  kicked  against  his  solution.  She  was  half  in- 
clined to  break  in  upon  his  calm  elaboration  of  the 
solution  with  "Oh,  if  that's  all  you've  got  to  sug- 
gest, you  may  as  well  let  it  alone.  I  could  do  as 
well  as  that  without  you.'* 

But  she  did  not  break  in ;  her  conception  of  Dr. 
Kayke's  conception  of  her  stood  between  her  an- 
noyance and  its  manifestation,  supported  by  her 
conception  of  herself,  a  conception  strongly  im- 
bued with  the  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  of  Mrs.  Vearing. 
So,  having  in  contemplation  a  wholesale  measure 
of  reform,  she  listened,  downcast  but  discreet,  to  a 
scheme  of  compromise.  For  Dr.  Bayke's  solu- 
tion was  a  compromise.  In  the  event  she  per- 
ceived and  acknowledged  that  he  was  justified,  but 
in  the  suggestion  she  found  him  tiresome,  in- 
efficient, disappointing. 

This  was  at  the  first  blush,  and — a  little — at  the 
second;  but  as  he  rounded  up  his  plan  and 
elaborated  its  tactics,  as  he  crossed  his  t's  with 
caution,  and  carefully  dotted  his  i's,  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  too  became  gradually  rounded  up :  gradually 
the  vexation  was  subtracted  from  her  disappoint- 
ment and  the  disappointment  itself  merged  in  re- 
luctant appreciation. 

For  the  Doctor's  scheme,  if  not  ideally  drastic, 
was  at  any  rate  practically  compassable;  if  com- 


22  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

pleteness  was  lacking,  success  was  probable.  It 
excluded  the  idea  of  casting  out  the  bondwoman 
and  giving  sole  dominion  to  the  freewoman;  the 
risk  of  sending  Nurse  right  out  into  the  wilder- 
ness was  too  great  in  view  of  the  attitude  of 
Nurse's  charge.  But  Nurse  was  no  longer  to  be 
Nurse :  if  she  might  not  be  Hagar,  she  might  and 
could  and  should  and  must  be  Hannah.  Hannah 
was  her  Christian  name,  and  Hannah  hencefor- 
ward she  was  to  be;  her  sphere  no  longer  the 
nursery,  but  the  range  of  the  house,  the  kitchen 
premises  excepted.  She  was,  in  a  word,  to  be 
housemaid  and  not  nurse,  unchanged  as  regarded 
space,  but  changed  enormously  in  function. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  as  Bayke  elaborated  the  salient 
points  of  the  scheme,  first  admitted  and  then  ap- 
plauded its  diplomacy.  There  was  no  occasion  for 
fretting  on  the  part  of  Dorrie,  for  Nurse — in  per- 
son— would  still  be  there;  and  when  Dorrie  had 
grown  accustomed  to  the  nursery-governess  who, 
if  not  all  at  once  yet  bit  by  bit  was  to  take  over 
Nurse's  duties  of  washing,  dressing  and  the  like, 
in  addition  to  her  own  special  duty  of  teaching, 
then  Nurse,  now  to  supersede  the  housemaid  of  the 
present,  would,  in  her  turn,  be  superseded  by  a 
housemaid  of  the  future.  And  in  addition  to  all 
this  Mrs.  Bonham  would  be  spared  the  thankless 
and  uncomfortable  task  of  bundling — or  appearing 
to  bundle — Nurse  out  of  the  house. 

Before  Dr.  Rayke  went  away  she  had  regained 
all  her  respect  for  the  masculine  mind. 

"You  have  indeed  helped  me,"  she  said  as  he 


NURSE  23 

bade  her  goodbye;  and  on  the  doorstep:  "How 
can  I  thank  you!" 

"By  not  thanking  me  at  all.  A  word  or  two 
of  advice!  What's  that?  Why,  nothing  at  all." 

"On  the  contrary,  it's  very  much — everything," 
murmured  Mrs.  Bonham. 

"Besides,  you  know  it's  a  pleasure  to  serve 
you. ' ' 

He  went  down  the  approach,  to  the  gate,  turned 
there,  took  off  his  hat  and  waved  to  her. 

What  a  friend  he  was !  what  a  kind  and  helpful 
friend!  Georgina,  relieved  in  her  mind,  and 
elated  in  her  mood,  went  back  into  the  house  to 
reflect  on  the  opening  of  the  campaign. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Dr.  Rayke  returned  home,  if  not  exactly  elated, 
yet  well  content.  He  had  told  Mrs.  Bonham  that 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  serve  her,  and  he  had 
spoken  the  truth.  He  did  not  mind  giving  advice ; 
he  rather  liked  it ;  and  advice  was  what  she  usually 
asked  of  him.  Moreover,  in  addition  to  the  satis- 
faction of  giving  it,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  it  would  be  taken.  She  was  a  sensible 
woman,  a  woman  who,  if — like  most  of  her  sex — 
she  had  not  the  capacity  for  constructive  reason- 
ing, had  at  any  rate  the  capacity  for  following 
sequential  argument  when  the  sequence  was 
pointed  out  to  her. 

He  was  used  to  speak  of  Mrs.  Bonham  as  a 


24  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

capable  woman,  and  was  not  unwilling  to  be  recog- 
nized as  her  guide,  philosopher  and  friend.  There 
were  those  in  Stottleham  who  said  he  would  not 
have  been  unwilling  to  add  to  these  parts,  so  suc- 
cessfully played,  the  part  of  husband.  But  they 
were  wrong. 

There  had  indeed  been  a  time,  three  years  ago 
now,  about  fifteen  months  after  he  had  come  to 
settle  down  in  Stottleham,  when  he  had  climbed 
up  on  to  the  fence  enclosing  the  estate  of  matri- 
mony and  considered  the  attractions  of  that  estate. 
There  had  been  a  period  when  he  had  wobbled, 
when,  indeed,  the  angle  of  his  predilection  had  in- 
clined towards  the  enclosure;  but  finally  he  had 
pulled  himself  upright  and  descended  on  the  single 
side. 

The  past  spoke  to  him  and  he  listened  to  its 
voice.  For  he  had  a  past;  not  lurid  or  guilty  or 
disgraceful,  but  flat  with  the  flatness  of  the  com- 
monplace. When  Mrs.  Eayke  died,  he  had  said  to 
himself:  "Never  again";  and  the  utterance  was 
not  a  vow  of  constancy  but  of  caution,  inspired 
not  by  sentiment  but  satiety.  Mrs.  Eayke  had 
been  insufferably  dull:  it  was  her  only  fault,  but 
a  fault  which  had  saturated  married  life  with 
cheerlessness.  And  yet  before  marriage  Rayke 
had  thought  her  charming;  pretty  to  look  at — 
which  she  was;  docile,  which  she  also  was;  in- 
teresting, which  she  was  not.  Her  intelligence 
had  been  swamped  by  her  docility,  and  the  Doctor, 
to  whom  the  clinging  and  the  docile  aspects  of 
womanhood  were  ideally  the  most  desirable,  had  in 


NUBSE  25 

practice  been  hoist  with  his  own  petard.  For 
Mrs.  Eayke  had  clung  persistently,  and  with  per- 
sistence had  been  docile;  so  docile  that  a  master 
mind  had  no  means  of  manifestation,  and  there 
was  never  an  occasion  on  which  it  was  possible 
to  prove  by  argument  superiority  of  judgment 
or  opinion.  She  was,  in  fact,  in  respect  of 
feminine  virtues  not  only  all  his  fancy  had  painted 
her,  but  immensely  more.  It  was  the  remem- 
brance of  this  immensity  which  had  helped  to 
bring  him  down  on  the  solitary  side  of  the  fence. 

Georgina  Bonham  appeared  to  be  an  eminently 
sensible  woman;  but  then  so  had  Marian  Rayke 
before  the  name  of  Eayke  had  followed  that  of 
Marian.  It  was  pleasant  to  go  to  tea  with  Mrs. 
Bonham  and  very  pleasant  to  persuade  her  to  his 
own  way  of  thinking.  It  was  pleasant  to  enter- 
tain Mrs.  Bonham  at  tea  at  his  own  house,  with 
one  or  two  other  friends  to  satisfy  convention. 
But  how  would  it  be  to  have  Mrs.  Bonham,  not 
coming  occasionally  to  tea,  not  mingled  with  other 
company,  but  always  there,  undiluted,  ready,  wait- 
ing, for  tea?  and  needing,  perhaps,  no  persuasion 
of  argument  to  bring  her  to  his  way  of  thinking, 
but  uniformly  ready  to  agree  with  anything  and 
everything  he  might  say?  To  experiment,  with 
experience  behind  him,  would  be  rash.  Eayke,  in 
short,  was  too  much  afraid  of  his  own  dominance 
to  risk  the  result  of  its  daily  influence. 

He  need  not  have  been  afraid.  Georgina  was 
a  woman  whom  marriage  made  less,  not  more 
amenable.  Daily  companionship  with  the  Doctor 


26  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

would  daily  have  diminished  his  domination  so  far 
as  she  was  concerned:  a  certain  distance  was  es- 
sential to  any  enchantment  in  her  view.  Dome's 
father,  now  that  he  was  dead,  was  by  her  revered; 
while  he  was  alive,  he  had  annoyed  her  by  con- 
tinually getting  into  debt  and  expecting  her  to  get 
him  out.  She  was  wont  to  speak,  in  all  good  faith, 
of  her  loss  as  a  blighting  sorrow,  whereas  the 
independence  of  widowhood  had  braced  her;  and 
to  say,  believing  it,  that  her  life  with  dear  Theo- 
dore had  been  one  of  unbroken  harmony,  for- 
getting the  many  rifts  within  the  lute  which  had 
not  only  made  the  music  of  marriage  frequently 
mute,  but  sometimes  discordant. 

But,  unconscious  of  any  discrepancy  between 
facts  and  the  glass-case  atmosphere  in  which  re- 
membrance stored  them,  she  yet,  in  vague  un- 
acknowledged fashion,  was  conscious  of  her  own 
tendencies.  With  the  halo  of  living  in  a  separate 
house  about  him,  Rayke's  presence  was  stimulat- 
ing, his  opinion  impressive,  his  advice  illuminat- 
ing. But  in  the  same  house?  every  day?  always 
advising! 

Georgina,  too,  had  had  her  period  of  considera- 
tion. It  had  slightly  preceded  Rayke's,  for  she, 
sooner  than  he,  had  perceived  whither  he  was  tend- 
ing: before  he  climbed  up  on  to  the  fence,  she 
had  seen  him  looking  through  the  palings.  And 
she,  as  he,  had  considered  the  pros  and  cons  of  an 
amalgamated  household.  And  she,  in  fact,  it  was 
who  had  settled  the  question.  For  there  had  been 
a  moment  in  which,  by  the  gentlest  movement,  an 


NURSE  27 

imperceptible  tug,  Georgina  could  have  precipi- 
tated Rayke  on  to  the  matrimony  side  of  the  fence. 
She  had  seen  the  moment  coming  and  was  mistress 
of  its  emotions:  Rayke,  on  the  other  hand, 
blundered  into  it  and  was  at  the  moment's  and 
Georgina 's  mercy. 

He  never  knew  that  she  had  tacitly  refused  him, 
he  never  knew  that,  had  she  decided  to  accept  him, 
he  would  have  provided  the  opportunity  for  ac- 
ceptance. Mrs.  Bonham  knew,  and  the  knowledge 
flattered  her  self-esteem ;  knew  too  that,  the  crisis 
past,  it  would  not  recur;  and  the  certainty  fortified 
her  confidence  in  the  stability  and  comfort  of  their 
relations.  She  was  not  used  to  considering  sex 
problems,  was  not  interested  in  them,  and  did  not 
think  out  the  sequence  of  past  phases  or  the 
course  of  the  future.  She  only  felt  that  every- 
thing was  satisfactory  and  that  she  could  rely  upon 
Rayke  for  friendship,  sympathy  and  advice,  to- 
gether with  a  suggestion  of  gallantry  in  his  atti- 
tude, not  displeasing.  And  this  was  the  state  of 
affairs  which  she  found  entirely  comfortable. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Rayke,  contented  in  his  independence,  never 
dreamed  that  he  owed  it  to  Mrs.  Bonham;  nor 
dreamed,  unconscious  as  he  was  of  her  decision, 
that  the  root  cause  of  the  decision  was  Dorrie. 

Possibly  Mrs.  Bonham  did  not  dream  of  it  her- 
self, since  she  was  not  given  to  defining  the  mo- 


28  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

tives  of  her  actions  or  seeking  for  the  origins  of 
her  ideas;  she  was  not  the  least  interested  in 
plumbing  her  own  depths.  There  were,  perhaps, 
no  very  great  depths  to  plumb;  but,  profound  or 
shallow,  her  devotion  to  Dome  went  down  to  the 
nethermost  part  of  her,  and  was  the  unrecognized 
but  determining  agent  in  the  main  course  of  her 
plans  and  conduct. 

Georgina  had  not  said  to  herself  in  so  many 
words  that  she  remained  a  widow  in  order  that 
there  should  be  nobody  to  interfere  between  her 
and  Dorrie,  but  such  was  the  fact.  She  was  will- 
ing, anxious,  sometimes  almost  eager  for  Dr. 
Eayke 's  advice,  and  had  invariably  been  disposed 
to  follow  it;  but  the  advice  of  a  friend,  offered 
with  the  courtesy  and  deference  with  which 
Bayke's  demeanour  was  infused,  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  the  advice  which,  in  the  mouth 
of  a  husband,  might  take  on  a  tone  of  authority. 
In  her  heart,  instinctively,  she  knew  that  if  Eayke 
made  suggestions  which  to  her  seemed  adverse 
to  Dorrie 's  advantage,  she  would  throw  him  and 
his  suggestions  to  the  wind ;  a  comparatively  easy 
matter  in  their  present  position,  but  bristling  with 
controversies  and  inconveniences,  were  Eayke  not 
only  an  inmate  of  her  house,  but  legally  its  master. 
In  her  heart  was  the  determination  that  Dorrie 's 
interests  should  come  before  all  else :  in  her  heart 
was  the  conviction  that  the  only  certain  way  to 
safeguard  them  was  to  share  her  authority  with 
none.  Consciously  she  had  not  admitted  all  this 
into  her  consideration  of  the  offer  which  Eayke 


NURSE  29 

would  have  made  her  had  she  deemed  it  expedient 
that  the  offer  should  be  made;  but  all  this  was 
present  nevertheless  in  her  emotional,  if  not  in  her 
mental  view  and  formed  the  deciding  factor.  It 
loomed  enormously  larger  than  the  sentimental 
element  which  gave  colour  and  interest  to  her 
friendship  with  Rayke. 

That  element,  never  impulsively  disturbing,  had 
become  in  the  last  three  years  ever  more  comfort- 
ably calm:  the  liquid  warmth  of  sentiment  had 
jellied  into  a  firm  mould  of  friendship.  Rayke 's 
presence  did  not  make  Georgina 's  heart  beat  faster 
than  did  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Vearing,  though  it 
beat  more  pleasurably.  She  did  not  forget  nor 
want  to  forget  nor  want  Rayke  to  forget  that  he 
was  a  man  and  she  a  woman,  but  she  had  no  more 
desire  to  arouse  adoration  than  she  had  to  render 
it. 

She  had  told  Mrs.  Vearing  that  she  should  never 
marry  again  because  of  dear  Theodore,  and  Mrs. 
Vearing  was  impressed  by  dear  Mrs.  Bonham's 
constancy  as  fully  as  was  Mrs.  Bonham  herself. 
Neither  of  them  knew — at  least  Mrs.  Vearing  did 
not  know,  and  Georgina  did  not  recognize — that 
it  was  not  dear  Theodore,  but  Dorrie,  who  had  held 
Dr.  Rayke  and  his  contingencies  at  arm's  length. 

It  was  part  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's  success  as  a  friend 
that  she  never  did  know  anything  about  Georgina 
that  Georgina  did  not  herself  recognize:  it  made 
her  what  Georgina  called  sympathetic,  and  it  had 
the  result  of  causing  Georgina  to  confide  in  her. 
She  consulted  Rayke,  but  confided  in  Mrs.  Vear- 


30  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

ing.  And  as  Rayke  to  Mrs.  Bonham,  so  was  Mrs. 
Bonham  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  while  as  Mrs.  Vearing 
to  Mrs.  Bonham,  so  was  the  Vicar  to  his  wife. 
Mrs.  Vearing  consulted  Mrs.  Bonham  and  confided 
in  her  husband,  who  looked  upon  her  as  a  model 
of  feminine  intuition.  He,  in  his  turn,  consulted 
her,  drinking  in  her  ideas  as  to  parish  activities, 
and,  needing  a  confidant  on  subjects  purely 
masculine,  confided  in  Rayke. 

So  that  these  four  people,  if  they  did  not  square 
the  circle,  circled  a  square;  and  of  the  square 
Rayke  was  the  vital  point,  the  alpha  and  omega. 
From  him  wisdom,  natural  to  his  manhood  and 
developed  and  increased  by  his  London  experience, 
was  transmitted  to  Mrs.  Bonham;  from  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham it  was  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  from  Mrs. 
Vearing  to  the  Vicar ;  and  through  the  Vicar  was 
returned,  unrecognized  and  unrecognizable,  in  the 
form  of  questions  or  remarks,  to  Rayke.  And 
as  the  four  friends  were  on  the  crest  of  the  wave 
of  Stottleham  society,  Rayke  may  be  said  to  have 
coloured  the  ideas  of  Stottleham. 

It  was  in  accordance  with  custom,  with  the  un- 
written laws  and  the  unnoted  traditions  of  the 
four,  that  on  the  day  after  Rayke  had  been  to  tea 
with  Mrs.  Bonham,  Mrs.  Bonham  should  go  to  tea 
with  Mrs.  Vearing. 


NUKSE  31 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Mrs.  Bonham,  after  the  Guild  meeting,  had  sug- 
gested Thursday  for  going  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing  and  talking  over  the  problems  of  the  Commit- 
tees and  the  heads  of  tables.  In  the  forefront  of 
her  mind  was  the  knowledge  that  it  was  her  first 
free  afternoon,  and  in  the  background  was  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  would  want  to  tell  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing  the  result  of  her  consultation  with  Dr.  Bayke. 
As  to  that  consultation,  she  had  as  yet  made  no 
communication  to  Mrs.  Vearing;  her  confidences 
were  almost  always  after  the  event.  It  was  this 
partial  reserve  which  gave  her,  in  Mrs.  Vearing 's 
eyes,  a  certain  inscrutability,  and  which  added  to 
Mrs.  Vearing 's  admiration  and  esteem:  the 
breaches  in  Mrs.  Bonham 's  confidence  made  her 
feel  the  more  honoured  in  its  observance. 

Georgina  set  out  for  the  Vicarage  pervaded  by 
pleasurable  emotions,  in  a  frame  of  mind  comfort- 
ably calm.  The  nervousness  of  yesterday  had  en- 
tirely gone.  She  was  never  nervous  with  Mrs. 
Vearing,  for  Mrs.  Vearing  always  understood  her 
point  of  view  and  her  difficulties,  or  at  any  rate 
never  showed  that  she  did  not  understand.  She 
had  moreover  a  great  deal  to  decide  as  well  as  to 
confide,  and  was  too  full  of  a  sense  of  authority  to 
feel  nervous. 

The  confidence  would  come  first,  for  Dorrie  and 
Nurse  and  the  nursery  governess  that  was  soon  to 
be  far  outweighed  in  importance  the  susceptibili- 


32  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

ties  of  Mrs.  Markham  and  Miss  Pottlebury  and  the 
intricacies  of  the  Needlework  Guild.  Until  Mrs. 
Bonham  had  disburdened  herself  of  her  designs 
on  Nurse,  she  felt  she  could  not  give  proper  at- 
tention to  the  Guild  workers.  It  was  only  design 
as  yet;  full-blown  and  determined  and  therefore 
meet  for  confidence,  but  not  yet  consolidated  in 
action. 

After  Rayke  had  gone  on  the  previous  evening, 
Georgina  had  not  felt  herself  prepared  to  tackle 
Nurse,  and  Nurse  must  be  tackled  before  any- 
thing was  said  to  Dorrie.  She  wanted  to  think 
things  over,  to  map  out  plainly  the  plan  of  the 
contemplated  campaign.  That  same  evening  was 
too  soon  to  take  proceedings;  and  the  next  morn- 
ing— well,  the  morning  was  not  a  good  time. 
Evening  was  the  time ;  you  went  to  bed  after  cross- 
ing the  Eubicon,  and  got  up  the  next  morning 
on  the  other  side.  That  evening,  after  leaving  the 
Vicarage — no,  after  Dorrie  had  gone  to  bed,  she 
would  tackle  Nurse.  And  before  the  evening  was 
the  afternoon,  with  confidences,  discussion,  deci- 
sions. The  day  was  big  with  importance. 

•Mrs.  Vearing  was  waiting  for  her  friend  in  a 
drawing-room,  the  general  effect  of  which  was  pink 
chintz  and  white  muslin  curtains.  The  frills  on 
the  curtains  betokened  an  aspect — if  not  the  main 
aspect — of  Mrs.  Vearing.  She  was  a  soft,  fair 
and  slender  woman,  inclined  to  dainty  tastes  and 
with  a  love  of  prettiness.  Sprigged  muslin  would 
have  expressed  her,  and  though  she  did  not  often 
wear  it  on  her  physical  frame — because  of  the 


NURSE  33 

washing — the  astral  woman  of  her  was  constantly 
garmented  in  its  inner  significance. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,"  she  said  when  Georgina 
came  in,  "I  have  been  waiting  and  expecting  you 
since  half -past  three."  It  was  now  ten  minutes 
to  four. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Vearing,"  said  Georgina,  "you 
know  I  always  lie  down  after  lunch,  and  then — 
except  on  Guild  days — have  Dorrie  with  me  for  an 
hour." 

*  *  I  know  you  are  a  model  mother,  but  I  thought 
—the  fact  is  I  was  so  terribly  afraid  of  something 
happening  to  prevent  your  coming." 

"What  should  happen?"  Mrs.  Bonham  asked. 
"Besides,  I  should  have  sent  you  a  note." 

"Yes,  I  know — of  course.  It's  only  my  stupid 
anxiety.  .  .  .  Now,  would  you  rather  stay  here 
or  sit  in  the  arbour?  It's  sweet  outside  to-day." 

"You  don't  think  the  arbour  is  damp?"  ques- 
tioned Georgina. 

"Oh  no;  the  sun's  been  on  it  all  the  morning. 
But  if  you  feel  the  least  afraid,  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham " 

The  friends,  though  they  had  been  friends  for 
years,  still  addresed  each  other  as  '  *  Mrs. ' '  It  was 
part  of  Georgina 's  reserve,  of  what  Mrs.  Vearing 
called  her  dignity.  Often  Mrs.  Vearing  had 
longed  to  say, '  *  Oh,  do  call  me  Alicia ! ' '  but  always 
the  thought  that  the  request  carried  with  it  a  sug- 
gestion that  she  on  her  side  should  call  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  Georgina  had  caused  her  to  refrain  from 
uttering  it.  If  Mrs.  Bonham  were  willing  to  be 


34  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Georgina,  the  intimation  of  her  willingness  must 
come  from  Mrs.  Bonham;  it  could  not  be  forced 
or  even  invited  by  Mrs.  Vearing,  who,  longing  for 
the  outer  sign  of  intimacy,  consoled  herself  a  little 
for  its  absence  by  the  frequent  prefix  to  the  formal 
Mrs.  of  "dear." 

Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
agreed  to  the  arbour.  The  term  arbour  was 
characteristic  of  Mrs.  Vearing  and  not  at  all  of 
the  retreat  to  which  she  proposed  to  take  her 
friend :  it  was,  in  fact,  a  substantial  seat,  protected 
by  a  wooden  back  and  sides  from  all  the  winds 
of  heaven  save  those  of  the  south,  from  rain  and 
sun  by  a  roof,  from  damp  underfoot  by  a  sub- 
stantial brick  floor.  The  Vicar  was  subject  to 
chills,  and  when  his  wife  had  insisted  upon  an 
arbour,  this  was  what  he  had  provided  her  with, 
knowing  that  he  would  be  expected,  when  the  sun 
was  bright  but  the  wind  not  free  from  frigidity, 
frequently  to  take  his  tea  in  it.  It  was  far  from 
the  arbour  which  Mrs.  Vearing  had  built  in  the 
air,  of  uncertain  angles,  of  trailing  plants  and 
climbing  roses;  it  was  not  an  arbour  at  all;  but 
she  clung  to  the  name,  finding  in  it  a  reflection  of 
the  might  have  been. 

To  the  arbour  the  two  ladies  went.  The  sun 
shone  full  in  their  faces,  so  that  Mrs.  Bonham 
had  to  pull  over  her  eyes  the  hat  which  was  meant 
to  be  worn  "off"  her  forehead.  Mrs.  Bonham 
did  not  like  doing  this ;  it  appeared  to  her  slightly 
indecorous ;  but  it  was  warm  in  the  arbour,  warmer 
than  in  the  drawing-room  where  Mrs.  Vearing 


NURSE  35 

had  dispensed  with  a  fire,  and  she  objected  to 
chilliness.  She  had  her  reward,  for  Mrs.  Vearing, 
while  Georgina  was  still  fiddling  with  her  hatpins, 
insisted  upon  fetching  the  holland  flap,  destined  to 
hang  from  hooks  on  the  arbour's  front  beam  in 
summer  time;  and  thus  was  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 
enabled  to  restore  her  hat  to  its  proper  place,  and 
her  mental  attitude  to  its  normal  equilibrium. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Thus  comfortably  seated,  Mrs.  Vearing  made  a 
plunge  into  the  subject  of  the  Guild. 

"I've  been  thinking  it  all  over,"  she  said;  "in 
fact,  it  kept  me  awake  for  ever  so  long  on  Tues- 
day night " 

Here  Georgina  interrupted  her.  "I  have  a 
great  deal  to  say  about  the  Guild,  and  we'll  dis- 
cuss it  fully — but  presently,  if  you  don't  mind. 
Before  we  go  into  that,  there's  something  I  want 
to  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Vearing  was  all  eager  agreement.  In  a 
trice  she  had  switched  herself  off  from  the  Guild 
and  on  to  the  something  else.  Dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  was  about  to  confide  in  her,  and  of  all  things 
in  the  Stottleham  world  she  delighted  in  the  con- 
fidences of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 

This  one  seemed  to  her  particularly  interest- 
ing, particularly  intimate.  Hanging  on  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham 's  words,  she  seized  upon  and  realized 
the  subtleties  and  difficulties  of  the  situation ;  more 


36  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

completely  than  had  Rayke ;  more  completely  per- 
haps than  Georgina  herself.  She  was  quicker  in 
feeling  than  either,  and  involuntarily  appreciated 
the  position  of  Nurse  while  she  sympathized  with 
Mrs.  Bonham.  She  was  indeed  within  measurable 
distance  of  getting  herself  into  hot  water  on  the 
point  of  Nurse. 

"Poor  woman!"  she  remarked;  "I'm  afraid 
she'll  feel  it  dreadfully." 

"Poor?"  There  was  a  trace  of  hot  water  in 
Georgina 's  tone.  "She  ought  to  be  deeply  thank- 
ful that  I  am  not  turning  her  away.  Most  people 
would. ' ' 

"Of  course,  of  course.  I  know,  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham,  there  are  few  who  would  be  so  considerate 
as  you " 

"Especially,"  Georgina  went  on,  "as  I  cannot 
help  feeling  that  Nurse  is  careless." 

"Careless!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vearing.  "Why, 
I  thought " 

Again  Mrs.  Bonham  interrupted  her.  "You  re- 
member, a  week  or  two  ago,  Dorrie  getting  hold 
of  that  bottle — the  stuff  the  doctor  gave  Hannah 
for  toothache — poison.  I  forgot  what  was  in 
it " 

"Aconite  and  iodine,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Vearing. 
"You  told  me  at  the  time.  I  remembered  the 
iodine  because  my  glands  were  painted  with  it 
when  I  was  a  child ;  and  aconite  stuck  in  my  mind 
because  of  the  dear  little  flowers  in  the  garden." 

"I  daresay,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham  coldly:  she  ob- 
jected to  being  pulled  up  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 


NURSE  37 

tence.  "I  don't  pretend  to  be  learned  in  drugs. 
But  I  know  it  was  poison.  Dr.  Eayke  said  it  would 
have  stopped  the  heart's  action.  Most  careless, 
I  considered  it,  of  Nurse." 

"But  I  thought  you  said  that  Dorrie  climbed  up 
on  a  chair  and  opened  the  cupboard.  And  the 
night  nursery  cupboard  is  so  high  up  that  I  sup- 
pose Nurse  thought " 

"She  had  no  business  to  think,"  said  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham,  who,  objecting  to  being  broken  in  upon,  made 
no  bones  about  breaking  in  on  those  less  intelli- 
gent than  herself,  and  Mrs.  Vearing  was  less  in- 
telligent. "She  had  no  business  to  think  of  any- 
thing except  locking  it  up.  Why,  if  Dorrie  had 
drunk  it — and  you  know  what  children  are — it 
might  have  been  her  death.  I  told  Nurse  so." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Nothing — except  that  she  was  sorry  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  She  has  a  way  of  saying  noth- 
ing, or  almost  nothing,  which  is  very  aggravating. 
But  it  helped  to  make  me  feel  that  a  change  was 
imperative." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham; 
you  always  are.  But  I  am  afraid  Nurse  cannot 
but  suffer  in  giving  up  the  care  of  so  sweet  a  child 
as  Dorrie." 

' '  She  will  see  her  every  day — see  her,  you  may 
say,  as  much  as  I  do.  And  you  know  what  Dorrie 
is.  The  difficulty  will  be  to  make  her,  in  a  sort  of 
way,  give  up  Nurse — I  mean  Hannah — to  induce 
her  to  keep  away  from  her." 

"Yes   indeed;   that   will  be   the   difficulty;   les 


38  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

defauts  de  ses  qualites,  as  the  French  say.  But 
you  couldn't  wish  her  to  be  less  clinging,  less  af- 
fectionate." 

Greorgina  could  and  did  wish  that  Dorrie  were 
distinctly  less  affectionate  and  clinging  in  the  di- 
rection of  Nurse,  but  she  did  not  say  so  to  Mrs. 
Vearing.  She  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of  being  put 
on  a  pedestal  by  remaining  on  the  pedestal  at 
moments  when  it  would  have  been  much  more  con- 
genial to  her  to  jump  down  and  flaunt  or  stamp 
about  upon  the  lower  earth.  She  did  not  exactly 
wish  to  stamp  at  this  moment,  but  she  decidedly 
did  not  want  sympathy  expended  on  Nurse;  the 
full  sum  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's  sympathy,  she  felt,  was 
due  to  herself. 

She  answered  in  a  non-committal  way:  "How 
could  I  wish  Dorrie  to  be  different  from  what  she 
is?" 

And  Mrs.  Vearing  responded :    ' '  How  indeed ! ' ' 

"Nurse,  as  you  say,"  she  went  on,  "is  so  much 
better  off  than  most  people  in  her  position.  And 
she  can  stay  on  as  housemaid  and  become  an  old 
family  servant.  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing 
with  the  beaming  countenance  of  a  happy  inspira- 
tion, "perhaps  become  Dorrie 's  maid  when  she  is 
grown  up." 

Mrs.  Bonham,  in  her  confidence,  had  not  confided 
the  temporary  character  of  Nurse's  transforma- 
tion; the  time  for  that  part  of  the  project  was 
not  yet  ripe.  So  all  she  said  was : 

"Time  enough  to  think  what  will  happen  when 
Dorrie  is  grown  up.  The  child  is  only  six." 


NURSE  39 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing.  She  sighed. 
"My  own  little  dears  would  have  been  seven  and 
eight." 

Georgina  echoed  the  sigh;  it  was  her  way  of 
showing  sympathy.  She  was  sorry  for  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing, but  at  the  same  time  she  did  not  want  to  en- 
courage her  to  talk  of  her  dead  babies.  In  Mrs. 
Bonham's  opinion  infants  who  had  died,  one  be- 
fore birth  and  the  other  immediately  after,  should 
not  be  perpetually  mourned ;  it  was  a  little  morbid 
of  Mrs.  Vearing  to  become  tearful  when  she  talked 
of  them,  especially  considering  that  it  was 
seven  years  since  the  last  baby  had  looked  into 
and  departed  from  the  world;  and  that  Mrs. 
Vearing  would  become  tearful,  Mrs.  Bonham 
knew. 

It  was  a  welcome  relief  when  the  Vicar  came 
out  to  say  that  tea  was  ready. 

"I've  had  the  fire  lighted,"  he  said  as  they 
entered  the  house.  *  *  The  drawing-room  struck  me 
as  a  bit  chilly." 

"Oh,  Adam,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "I  thought  it 
looked  so  sweet  and  summerlike  with  only  the 
flowers  and  the  clean  curtains." 

"Clean  curtains  don't  keep  one  warm.  Do  they, 
Mrs.  Bonham?" 

"I  think  one  needs  a  fire  towards  evening,"  said 
Georgina, ' '  though  really  these  last  few  days  have 
been  almost  as  warm  as  June." 

"June  isn't  always  warm." 

Mr.  Vearing  went  on  to  recall  Junes  of  capri- 
cious character,  and  the  weather,  gardens  and 


40  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

farming  prospects  kept  conversation  going 
throughout  tea. 

When  tea  was  over  Mrs.  Vearing  exchanged 
glances  with  Mrs.  Bonham  and  then  said :  ' l  Adam 
dear,  I  suppose  you're  going  to  have  a  smoke. 
There  is  a  fire  in  the  study,  I  know,  for  I  told 
Bessie  to  be  sure  and  light  it." 

"I  suppose  that  means  that  you  want  to  get  rid 
of  me."  Mr.  Vearing  got  up.  ''Secrets — con- 
fidences? Eh?" 

"Business,"  said  Georgina  with  a  touch  of  tart- 
ness. She  liked  to  be  taken  seriously. 

"And  not  my  business,  obviously."  Mr.  Vear- 
ing held  out  his  hand.  "In  case  I  don't  see  you 
again. ' ' 

He  turned  to  his  wife.  "I  suppose  you  won't 
be  wanting  me  for  a  time.  I  think  I'll  go  round 
and  have  my  smoke  with  Rayke." 

"Secrets,  confidences,  eh?"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 

The  Vicar  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  which 
meant:  "What  a  bright,  amusing  woman  you 
are!"  shook  his  head  as  much  as  to  say:  "There's 
no  getting  over  you,"  and  went  out  of  the  room, 
shutting  the  door  with  a  bang. 

"Adam  will  bang  the  door,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Vearing  apologetically,  "except  when  he  remem- 
bers, which  is  hardly  ever,  unless  I  have  a  head- 
ache. It 's  one  of  the  things  I  Ve  never  been  able 
to  break  him  of.  I  suppose  his  mother  didn't 
when  he  was  a  child,  and  unless  you're  broken  as 

a  child I  hope  it  didn  't  startle  you,  dear  Mrs. 

Bonham?" 


NUKSE  41 

"Oh  no,  thank  you.  I'm  not  nervy,  I'm  glad  to 
say.  Besides  it  isn  't  the  first  time  I  've  heard  your 
husband  close  a  door." 

"You  have  so  much  self-control,"  said  Mrs. 
Vearing.  "I  wish  I  was  like  you." 

Mrs.  Bonham  smiled  affectionately:  she  pre- 
ferred Mrs.  Vearing 's  aspirations  to  her  reminis- 
cences. 

"And  now  to  business,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  X 

Mrs.  Vearing,  more  than  willing  to  take  up  the 
subject  of  Guild  diplomacy,  entered  upon  it 
eagerly.  She  had  been  thinking  about  it,  she  said, 
ever  since  she  and  Mrs.  Bonham  had  parted;  at 
night  when  she  should  have  been  asleep;  by  day 
when  her  thoughts  should  have  been  with  the 
housekeeping  or  the  parish ;  and  she  was  sure,  per- 
fectly, absolutely  sure  that  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 's 
plan  was  the  right  one. 

Mrs.  Bonham  became  judicial.  Tentative  with 
Rayke,  she  was  weighty  with  Mrs.  Vearing:  feel- 
ing her  femininity  as  moonlight  to  the  sunlight  of 
Rayke 's  masculine  mind,  she  considered  Mrs. 
Vearing  to  be  in  regard  to  herself  as  water  unto 
wine — the  water  being  aerated:  and  it  was  with 
the  calmness  of  claret  that  she  considered  the  bub- 
bling effervescence  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's  conclusions. 
Calm  was  necessary,  and  comprehensiveness,  since 


42  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

there  were  so  many  intricacies  in  Guild  politics 
and  so  many  troubled  elements. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  Georgina  said,  ''that 
my  plan  of  annual  elections  is  the  best  one,  but 
the  question  is,  will  some  of  the  ladies  who  have 
been  heads  for  years  like  giving  way  to  others?" 

"It  would  be  ever  so  much  fairer "  began 

Mrs.  Vearing,  but  Georgina  interrupted  her. 

"It  isn't  fairness  that  matters  so  much,"  she 
said,  "as  peace." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,"  Mrs.  Vearing  exclaimed 
admiringly,  "you  always  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 
Of  course  it  is.  Though  at  the  same  time,  I  should 
like  to  be  fair,  if  I  could." 

"Of  course.  But  it's  no  good  breaking  up  the 
Guild.  Now  Mrs.  Charles  Marsden,  for  instance. ' ' 

Mrs.  Vearing  at  once  saw  the  importance  of  not 
upsetting  Mrs.  Charles  Marsden.  Mrs.  Charles 
Marsden  was  one  of  the  leading  ladies  of  Stottle- 
ham  and  of  a  disposition  likely  to  feel  and  show 
resentment  if  cast  for  a  walking-on  part.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  dislodge  her  without  imperill- 
ing the  welfare  both  of  the  Guild  and  society. 

Miss  Pottlebury  was  not  in  the  highest  set,  but 
she  taught  in  the  Sunday  School;  if  shelved  in 
favour  of  Mrs.  Markham,  she  might  retaliate  by 
giving  up  her  class.  Teachers  were  not  too  nu- 
merous, and  the  Vicar,  Mrs.  Vearing  intimated, 
cared  more  about  the  Sunday  School  than  the 
Guild.  Mrs.  Markham  on  the  other  hand  could  not 
be  passed  over.  She,  no  more  than  Miss  Pottle- 
bury,  was  socially  considerable,  but  then  she  sub- 


NURSE  43 

scribed  liberally  to  church  charities  and  was  a 
strong  financial  supporter  of  the  Guild:  she  was 
substantial  if  undistinguished. 

Besides  these  ladies  there  were  many  others, 
either  in  or  wishful  to  be  in  positions  of  authority; 
and  as  there  were  only  six  tables  and  therefore 
but  six  prominent  positions,  the  problem  Mrs. 
Bonham  and  Mrs.  Vearing  had  met  to  discuss 
seemed,  as  they  discussed  it,  wellnigh  insoluble. 
Yet  Mrs.  Bonham  found  a  solution. 

' '  So  brilliant ! ' '  Mrs.  Vearing  said. 

The  solution  was  a  compromise;  one  which 
maintained  the  autocrats,  yet  pandered  to  the 
democracy.  Three  tables  were  to  be  permanent 
posts;  the  headship  of  the  others  was  to  be  only 
for  a  session,  the  heads  being  elected.  Thus  those 
members  whom  it  would  not  be  safe  to  unseat  were 
left  in  possession,  while  the  rivalries  of  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham,  Miss  Pottlebury  and  the  rest  would  be  rele- 
gated to  the  ballot.  The  only  doubt  in  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  mind  was  in  regard  to  the  balloting;  the 
ballot-box  was  vaguely  connected  in  her  mind  with 
revolutionary  ideas.  But  then,  as  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing remarked,  "we  could  do  it  without  a  box.'* 

"Ye — yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham. 

Anyhow,  revolution  in  the  vague  was  better 
than  ructions  concretely  definite :  moreover  it  was 
she  herself  who  had  started  the  idea  of  the  ballot, 
and  she  could  not  go  back  on  it.  So  the  ballot 
was  passed. 

"What  will  Adam  say?"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 
'  *  He  will  think  it  clever  of  you. ' ' 


44  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

What  Adam  actually  did  say,  when  his  wife  told 
him  that  the  Guild  problem  was  settled,  was 
''Thank  the  Lord!";  but  when  the  Vicar  was  ex- 
clamatory Mrs.  Vearing  did  not  always  repeat  his 
words  to  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 


CHAPTER  XI 

As  Georgina  neared  the  Beeches — so  her  house 
was  styled — the  Guild,  the  ballot,  Mrs.  Vearing 
and  Stottleham  as  'a  whole  receded  further  and 
further  into  the  background  of  her  consciousness, 
and  at  last,  as  she  .reached  the  gate,  disappeared 
entirely,  giving'  place  to  one  only  figure  which  filled 
it  altogether. 

It  would  have  been  absurd  for  Georgina  to  feel 
any  trace  of  nervousness  in  regard  to  the  ap- 
proaching interview,  so  absurd  that  she  refused 
to  admit  even  the  possibility  of  such  a  sensation. 
She  had  been  a  little  nervous  before  discussing  the 
subject  with  Rayke:  with  Rayke,  all  things  con- 
sidered, it  had  been  excusable.  But  Nurse! 

Mrs.  Bonham  was  a  woman  who  was  accustomed 
to  consider  her  servants  from  her  own  standpoint 
and  not  at  all  from  theirs.  Even-tempered  and 
not  too  exacting,  a  not  unkindly  mistress,  she  had 
never  had  any  hesitation  in  finding  fault  with  a 
servant  who  did  not  please  her,  or  in  dismissing 
one  who  needed  no  fault-finding  to  suit  her  own 
convenience.  Emma,  the  present  housemaid,  was 
admirably  efficient,  but  Georgina  had  no  compunc- 


NURSE  45 

tion  in  shifting  her  to  make  room  for  Nurse.  She 
was  making  different  arrangements ;  that  was  what 
she  would  say  to  Emma.  It  was  equally  simple 
to  say  the  same  thing,  in  effect,  to  Nurse;  even 
simpler,  if  greater  simplicity  were  possible,  since 
Nurse,  she  was  persuaded,  would  agree  to  any 
terms  which  permitted  her  to  remain  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Dorrie.  If  she  didn't,  so  much  the 
worse  for  Nurse,  and  so  much  the  better  for 
Georgina.  It  was  therefore  all  perfectly  plain 
sailing. 

Nevertheless  Mrs.  Bonham  funked  the  inter- 
view. She  would  not  have  used  the  word,  but  it 
exactly  denotes  the  state  of  mind  which  she  de- 
clined to  admit.  To  say  that  she  funked  the  inter- 
view is  another  way  of  saying  that  she  funked 
Nurse.  A  quite  ordinary  woman  was  Nurse, 
quiet,  respectful,  conscientious;  more  sparing  of 
words  perhaps  than  was  quite  ordinary,  and  more 
than  ordinarily  tender — at  any  rate  where  Dorrie 
was  concerned.  Georgina,  who  had  watched  her 
carefully  and  closely  when  she  first  took  charge 
of  Dorrie,  knew  her  through  and  through — or 
thought  she  did.  In  the  part  of  Georgina  to  which 
thought  did  not  penetrate  there  was  a  secret  doubt 
whether  she  did  know  Nurse.  Something  there 
was  in  Nurse  that  baffled  her,  something  she  did 
not  understand.  She  resented  that  something  and 
a  little  feared  it.  Georgina  herself,  devoted  to 
Dorrie,  constant  in  her  affection,  faithful  in  friend- 
ship, was  without  the  capacity  for  passion. 
Nurse,  it  may  be,  had  it  and  it  was  the  presence 


46  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

of  this  uncomprehended  quality,  perhaps,  the 
sense  that  in  Nurse 's  make-up  was  a  factor  absent 
from  her  own,  that  caused  her  disquietude. 
Whatever  the  cause,  the  disquietude  was  there. 
Mrs.  Bonham  told  herself  that  she  was  uneasy  be- 
cause she  was  afraid  of  hurting  Nurse :  in  truth, 
she  was  not  completely  certain  that  Nurse  would 
not  hurt  her. 

Mrs.  Bonham 's  cutlet  was  not  as  well  fried 
that  evening  as  Cook  generally  fried  it ;  the  soup 
was  a  trifle  greasy,  the  omelette  a  little  overdone : 
so  she  told  herself,  failing  to  enjoy  her  dinner 
as  much  as  usual.  She  dispensed  with  dessert, 
but  having  drunk  her  customary  glass  of  claret, 
poured  herself  out  an  extra  half -glass. 

"When  Janet  brought  her  cup  of  coffee  to  the 
drawing-room,  she  said: 

"Please  ask  Nurse  to  come  and  speak  to  me 
as  soon  as  she's  finished  putting  Miss  Dorrie  to 
bed." 

Mrs.  Bonham  was  still  sipping  the  coffee  when 
Nurse  came  into  the  room. 

"Janet  says  you  wanted  to  see  me,  ma'am." 

"Yes,  Nurse.    Please  sit  down!" 

Nurse  at  once  sat  down;  a  woman  of  thirty- 
eight,  with  brown  smooth  hair,  a  homely  ordinary 
face  and  unusually  steady  eyes.  Georgina  wished 
the  eyes  were  a  little  less  steady,  for  Nurse  was 
looking  at  her. 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  to  have  a  little 
talk  with  you,  about  Miss  Dorrie. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bonham 's  manner  was  a  touch  more  lofty 


NURSE  47 

than  usual,  more  distant  and  lofty  than  it  usually 
was  with  Nurse,  who  was  on  a  different,  a  more 
familiar  footing  than  the  rest  of  the  staff. 

Nurse  answered  quickly:  "Nothing  ails  the 
child."  It  was  as  though  a  doubt  had  been  sug- 
gested to  her  and  she  cast  it  from  her. 

"It  isn't  her  health  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
— she's  as  healthy  as  a  child  could  well  be.  It's 
her  age." 

Again  Mrs.  Bonham  paused,  but  this  time  Nurse 
said  nothing. 

"She's  getting,"  Georgina  went  on,  "less  and 
less  of  a  baby  every  day." 

Still  Nurse  did  not  speak,  but  into  her  eyes  came 
a  look  that  is  indescribable.  At  least  there  is  only 
one  way  of  describing  it.  If  you  go  to  a  dog- 
mother  with  puppies  a  few  days  old  and  take 
from  her  one  of  the  puppies,  you  will  see  in 
her  eyes  the  look  that  came  into  Nurse's  eyes; 
only  that  in  the  dog's  eyes  the  look  is,  as  it 
were',  full  grown,  whereas  in  Nurse's  it  was  ten- 
tative. 

As  Nurse  did  not  speak,  Georgina  had  to  go  on 
speaking. 

"She  is  six,"  she  said. 

"The  twenty-third  of  last  September,"  said 
Nurse. 

"Not  so  very  far  from  seven,"  Georgina  con- 
tinued. 

It  was  because  the  inference  was  so  obvious  per- 
haps, the  present  month  being  April,  that  Nurse 
considered  assent  unnecessary. 


48  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"She  ought  to  have  more  regular  sort  of  lessons 
than  I  can  give  her. ' ' 

Into  Nurse's  face,  which  had  been  winter,  came 
a  swift  ripple  of  spring. 

"A  governess ?"  she  hazarded,  the  words 

coming  less  as  a  question  than  as  though  she 
guessed  the  answer  to  a  riddle. 

"A  nursery  governess,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham. 

Winter  was  back  again,  bleak  and  desolate,  in 
Nurse's  face:  her  eyes,  fortunately,  no  longer 
looked  at  Georgina,  but  on  the  floor.  They  were 
still  on  the  floor  when  she  stood  up,  stiff  and  rigid, 
but  giving  Georgina  the  uncomfortable  impression 
that  at  any  moment  she  might  fall  down. 

*  *  Am  I  to  go,  ma  'am  ? ' '  asked  Nurse.  She  spoke 
under  her  breath,  not  in  a  whisper,  but  as  though 
she  had  lost  her  voice  from  cold. 

"No,"  said  Georgina.  She  added:  "Please 
sit  down ! ' ' 

Nurse  obeyed ;  she  was  no  longer  rigid,  but  trem- 
bling. 

And  then  Mrs.  Bonham  explained.  It  was  easy 
enough,  now  that  the  ice  was  broken  and  that 
Nurse,  having  faced  and  feared  the  worst,  would 
look  upon  anything  short  of  it,  if  not  as  the  best, 
still  as  very  good.  Mrs.  Bonham  took  up  again 
with  confidence  her  usual  tone  of  authority,  and 
Nurse  returned  to  her  accustomed  deference;  a 
deference  which  had  been  not  so  much  waived  as 
swamped  by  a  sentiment  of  larger  import.  Nurse, 
then,  withdrew  to  her  ordinary  limits  as  Mrs. 
Bonham  enlarged  her  borders. 


NURSE  49 

Nurse  agreed  to  everything:  to  the  housework, 
to  which  she  was  not  used,  to  the  laying  out  and 
putting  away  of  Mrs.  Bonham's  "things,"  to  the 
giving  up — after  a  time  and  gradually — of  the 
dressing  and  undressing,  the  general  care  of 
Dorrie.  It  was  little,  ever  so  little,  to  give  up  the 
dressing,  compared  with  giving  up,  altogether  and 
completely,  the  child  she  had  been  used  to  dress. 
The  bondwoman  gave  willing,  almost  eager  assent 
to  the  conditions  of  the  freewoman.  What  choice 
had  she?  Cast  out,  she  would  have  been  childless 
in  the  wilderness,  since  the  child  of  her  heart  was 
the  child  of  the  freewoman 's  body. 


CHAPTER  XII 

When  Nurse  had  gone,  Mrs.  Bonham  poured 
herself  out  another  cup  of  coif  ee.  It  was  cold,  but 
she  enjoyed  it.  She  had  a  delicious  sense  of  hav- 
ing come  through  a  bad  patch  and  arrived  unin- 
jured on  the  safe  side. 

Resting  on  her  laurels,  she  felt  at  peace  with  all 
the  world;  nay,  beneficent  towards  humanity. 
She  was  disposed  towards  conviviality :  had  Rayke 
come  in,  or  Mrs.  Vearing,  or,  still  better,  both, 
she  would  have  given  vent  to  her  satisfaction  in 
an  unwonted  exuberance  of  spirits.  But  Rayke 
never  called  in  the  evening,  nor  did  Alicia  leave 
Adam  after  the  evening  meal;  and  it  never  even 
occurred  to  Georgina  to  go  and  visit  either  of 
them.  So  there  was  only  the  coffee. 


50  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

The  coffee,  the  extra  amount  of  it  superimposed 
upon  the  additional  half -glass  of  claret,  acted  as 
a  stimulant  and  increased  the  desire  for  expansion, 
for  intercourse;  to  the  extent  that,  when  Janet 
came  to  take  away  the  tray,  Georgina  enquired 
after  her  mother.  Fortunately  Janet  had  a 
mother,  but  she  was  so  surprised  at  the  un- 
precedented interest  displayed  in  her  that  she  was, 
as  she  reported  later  in  the  kitchen,  struck  dumb. 
Recovering  herself,  she  replied  with  nervous 
volubility,  imparting  details  as  to  the  state  of 
veins  in  her  mother's  legs,  from  which  Georgina 
shrank.  Anything  in  the  way  of  medical  details 
seemed  to  her  indecent. 

The  incident,  however,  sobered  her  excitement, 
and  when  Janet  had  gone,  she  was  able  to  take  up 
her  work  (she  was  embroidering  a  frock  for 
Dorrie)  and  think  calmly  over  the  details  of  her 
conquest.  For  she  had  conquered  all  along  the 
line.  Nurse  had  collapsed,  capitulated  upon  every 
point;  as  Mrs.  Bonham  had  foreseen.  Foresee- 
ing, why  then  had  she  dreaded  the  interview  ?  She 
did  not  in  the  least  dread  giving  Emma  notice  on 
the  morrow.  But  she  did  not  waste  time  or 
thought  upon  the  point;  the  interview  being  over 
successfully,  there  was  no  occasion  to  dwell  upon 
anything  but  its  success;  save  only  the  working 
out  of  the  altered  conditions.  And  this  was  a 
pleasant  task. 

For  another  month  Nurse  would  still  be  Nurse ; 
she  could  not  well  be  Hannah  till  Emma  had  gone. 
But  certain  changes  Georgina  would  make  at  once. 


NURSE  51 

Dome's  bed  should  be  removed  on  the  morrow 
from  the  night  nursery  to  the  room  communicat- 
ing with  Georgina's  own  bedroom;  a  dressing- 
room,  but  large  enough  to  serve  permanently  as 
Dorrie  's  bedroom.  The  change  would  remove  her 
in  one  fell  swoop  from  a  large  measure  of  Nurse's 
domination.  Night-time  now  would  shut  out 
Nurse,  and  no  longer,  as  heretofore,  Georgina. 
She  would  feel,  as  she  put  it  to  herself,  that  the 
child  really  belonged  to  her.  On  this  point,  too, 
Nurse  had  capitulated,  with  eyes — thank  good- 
ness!— which  did  not  insist  upon  meeting  Geor- 
gina's eyes,  and  with  no  semblance  of  showing 
fight.  "Very  well,  ma'am,"  she  had  said,  when 
Mrs.  Bonham  had  mentioned  the  arrange- 
ment. 

With  completeness  she  had  accepted  it,  and  not 
only  accepted  it,  but  undertaken  to  make  it  work. 
For  when  Mrs.  Bonham,  with  a  suggestion  of  em- 
barrassment, had  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  rebel- 
lion on  Dorrie 's  part,  Nurse  had  said:  "You'd 
better  leave  Miss  Dorrie  to  me,  ma'am." 

Nothing  could  have  been  nicer  on  the  part  of 
Nurse;  but  just  here,  in  those  words  of  hers,  lay 
the  tiny  sting  at  the  tail  end  of  Georgina's  satis- 
faction. It  was  Nurse  who  would  persuade  the 
child  to  adoption  of  the  new  conditions,  not  her- 
self. But  the  point  was  a  minor  one;  negligible, 
inasmuch  as  it  did  not  affect  the  issue.  Practi- 
cally Mrs.  Bonham  was  in  the  position  of  boss: 
she  could  afford  to  wag  the  tail  in  spite  of  the 
sting. 


52  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

She  finished  Dome's  dress  and  went  upstairs 
to  bed,  putting  out  the  lights  on  the  way. 

Outside  the  night  nursery  she  paused,  listening. 
It  would  be  absurd  if  Nurse  were  to  make  a  fuss 
— and  very  annoying,  disturbing  the  child.  Geor- 
gina  could  not  have  told  why  the  thought  occurred 
to  her  that  Nurse  might  be  crying,  but  the  thought 
did  occur.  If  Nurse,  however,  were  being  absurd, 
she  was  being  absurd  silently.  Not  a  sound  came 
forth  from  the  night  nursery.  Georgina,  stand- 
ing with  her  head  bent  towards  the  door,  heard  the 
church  clock  strike  eleven.  She  was  later  than 
usual,  by  half  an  hour.  She  put  out  the  last  light 
and  went  tranquilly  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XIH 

On  the  following  afternoon  Mrs.  Bonham  had 
tea  with  Dr.  Rayke.  She  had  not  been  invited: 
she  was  never  invited  save  when  the  Doctor  gave 
a  tea-party,  generally  small  and  always  select:  it 
would  have  been  slightly  unseemly,  a  little  com- 
promising, to  have  invited  her  to  tea  tete-d-tete. 
Both  Mrs.  Bonham  and  Dr.  Rayke  felt  this,  and 
the  fact  that  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Bonham  neces- 
sitated an  invitation  to  two  or  three  other  ladies 
was  one  of  the  unwritten  laws  which  regulated 
their  intercourse. 

But  occasionally,  when  Georgina  was  beset  with 
uncertainty  or  big  with  tidings,  she  went  to  see 
Rayke,  "on  business";  and  on  such  occasions  she 


NURSE  53 

sometimes  stayed  to  tea.  And  this  was  perfectly 
proper.  The  propriety  was  demonstrated  by  the 
fact  that  he  received  her  in  his  study.  To  have 
waited  for  her  in  the  drawing-room,  to  have  said 
to  the  maid:  "I  expect  Mrs.  Bonham  to  tea  this 
afternoon,"  would  have  denoted  familiarity  of  a 
kind  likely  to  lead  to  gossip:  but  Mrs.  Bonham 
calling  unexpectedly,  enquiring  if  the  Doctor  was 
at  home  and  not  too  much  engaged  to  see  her  for  a 
few  minutes  on  business,  was  a  proceeding  of  so 
formal  and  unsentimental  a  character  as  to  war- 
rant no  false  conclusions.  That  she  should  stay 
on  to  tea  was  merely  proof  of  her  host's  hospital- 
ity, not  of  the  state  of  his  affections. 

Eayke,  when  Mrs.  Bonham  arrived,  was  busy 
with  botanical  specimens ;  so  busy,  indeed,  that  he 
was  not  overjoyed  at  being  interrupted.  Never- 
theless he  arose  with  an  expression  of  welcome: 
there  are  few  friendships  quite  free  of  duty,  and 
Mrs.  Bonham  was  not  exacting;  the  duty  payable 
on  the  pleasure  of  being  her  confidential  adviser 
was  seldom  more  than  about  a  farthing  in  the 
pound. 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  Rayke  asked 
when  Georgina  was  seated  in  the  armchair  by  the 
window.  "  Nothing  gone  wrong  with  our  little 
plans,  I  hope!" 

"Oh  no,  they  have  turned  out  most  successful. 
It's  because  of  the  success  that  I  ventured  to  break 
in  upon  you,  that — in  fact  I  was  longing  to  tell  you 
about  it.  And  I  knew  you  would  be  anxious  to 
hear." 


54  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"Most  anxious.    Of  course,"  said  Rayke. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  beej.  so  much  engaged 
with  his  own  interests  that  he  had  not  given  a 
thought  to  Mrs.  Bonham  and  her  affairs  all  day; 
but,  his  advice  recalled  to  him,  he  was  desirous  of 
knowing  how  it  had  worked  out. 

"So  all  went  well?"  he  enquired. 

"Perfectly.  Your  plan  was  even  more — more 
Georgina's  vocabulary  was  not  very  wide, 
and  she  did  not  shine  in  expressing  herself. 

Bayke  helped  her  out.  "Judicious,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

"That's  it.  More  judicious  even  than  I  thought 
it  was. ' ' 

"A  good  deal  of  the  success  was  due  to  the  way 
you  carried  it  out.  You  mustn't  give  me  all  the 
praise." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Georgina;  but  she 
thought  she  had  done  rather  well. 

"Oh,  but  1  know,"  Rayke  went  on.  "The  fact 
is,  Mrs.  Bonham,  the  combination — you  and  I 
working  together,  pretty  well  ensured  success. 
The  constructive  masculine  mind  and  the  feminine 
tact  to  interpret  it — it's  ideal." 

Mrs.  Bonham  was  gratified;  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  the  masculine  mind  was  in  her  estimation 
to  scale  the  summit  of  feminine  attainment. 
Rayke  occasionally  raised  her  to  this  height,  and 
constantly  conveyed  to  her  the  impression  that, 
if  not  on  the  highest  peak,  she  was  at  any  rate 
perambulating  the  lower  slopes.  It  was  this  ap- 


NURSE  55 

preciation  of  superiority  on  Mrs.  Bonham's  part, 
the  sense  of  being  appreciated  on  Bayke's,  of  look- 
ing up  on  the  one  hand  and  down  on  the  other, 
which  gave  zest  to  their  friendship;  and  it  was  a 
shrewdness  common  to  both  which  suggested  that 
marriage  might  shatter  their  mutual  satisfaction. 

Georgina,  gratified,  responded:  "At  any  rate 
the  result  was  most  satisfactory." 

Eayke  had  been  standing  by  the  mantelpiece :  he 
now  sat  down. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said. 

Georgina  began  to  tell  him;  with  considerable 
amplification ;  acknowledging  to  him  what  she  had 
not  acknowledged  on  the  previous  evening  to  her- 
self. 

"I  don't  know  why,  but  I  really  felt  almost  nerv- 
ous about  telling  Nurse." 

"It  was  very  natural." 

'  *  Well,  I  don 't  know.    I  'm  not  given  to  nerves. ' ' 

"Certainly  not.  I  never  knew  anyone — no 
woman,  at  any  rate,  more  free  from  anything  of 
the  kind.  But  you  forget  one  thing." 

"What's  that?" 

"That  you  have  a  tender  heart." 

"Nobody,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham,  "would  willingly 
give  pain." 

Eayke  shook  his  head,  saying  with  a  smile: 
"You  mustn't  judge  everybody  by  yourself,  you 
know. ' ' 

He  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  bell. 

"You'll  stay  to  tea,  I  hope?" 


56  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

''Well — really,"  Georgina  began,  "I " 

Eayke,  pressing  the  knob,  interrupted  her  hesi- 
tations. 

"You  can't  refuse  after  what  you've  just  said. 
If  you  didn't  want  to  hurt  Nurse's  feelings,  you 
can't  deliberately  hurt  mine." 

"What  delightful  manners  he  has!"  Georgina 
thought.  She  replied:  "Of  course  if  you  put  it 
in  that  way " 

"There  isn't  any  other  way  of  putting  it,"  said 
Eayke.  "Maud"  (to  the  maid  who  just  then  ap- 
peared) ,  *  *  Mrs.  Bonham  will  remain  to  tea.  We  '11 
have  it  in  the  drawing-room,  and  please  light  the 
fire." 

"Oh,  please,"  said  Georgina,  "not  for  me!  It 
seems  such  a  pity " 

"It's  for  me,"  smiled  Eayke.  "I  don't  like 
taking  my  tea  in  a  chilly  atmosphere. ' ' 

"But  if  it  were  not  for  me "began  Georgina 

once  more. 

"If  it  were  not  for  you,"  again  interrupted 
Eayke,  "I  should  have  a  dull  lonely  tea,  in  a  dull 
working-room.  Whereas  I  intend  to  enjoy  my- 
self." 

"Then,"  said  Georgina,  "I  give  in.  I  can't  do 
anything  else." 


NUBSE  57 

CHAPTER  XIV 

The  drawing-room  was,  to  Mrs.  Bonham,  rather 
a  depressing  apartment:  secretly  she  much  pre- 
ferred the  dullness,  as  Bayke  termed  it,  of  the 
study  to  the  liveliness  of  the  drawing-room.  Its 
only  recommendations  were  that  it  was  exceed- 
ingly clean  and  that  it  had  a  bow-window  which 
looked  out  upon  the  garden.  It  was  its  cheerful- 
ness which  depressed  her.  The  cheerfulness  was 
spasmodic.  From  a  carpet  of  heavy  green  with  a 
black  pattern  on  it,  and  from  chairs  and  couches 
covered  with  what  Dorrie  called  creepy-crawlies 
on  a  black  background — for  the  chintzes  of  Geor- 
gina's  choice  were  only  put  on  in  summer — it 
leapt  up  into  curtains  of  bright  pink  damask;  it 
broke  into  a  table-cloth  of  the  same  colour,  and 
burst  out  here  and  there  in  cushions  of  blue  and 
green.  An  artistic  friend  had  once  told  Rayke 
that  the  perfect  room  was  a  dark  foundation  with 
dashes  of  colour,  and  the  drawing-room  was  his 
conception  of  carrying  out  the  idea.  It  was  one 
which  jarred  upon  Mrs.  Bonham:  she  was  not 
without  taste  in  the  matter  of  furniture,  and  had 
an  inborn  capacity  for  making  a  room  look  com- 
fortable. The  one  sure  satisfaction  she  would 
have  had  in  marrying  Rayke  would  have  been  the 
transformation  of  his  drawing-room.  In  connec- 
tion with  drawing-rooms,  she  privately  thought 
the  masculine  mind  was  best  in  abeyance.  But, 
having  avoided  marriage,  she  avoided  criticism. 


58  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Bayke  seldom  entered  the  room ;  when  he  did  enter 
it,  it  was  obviously  with  pleasure. 

Entering  it  now  he  rubbed  his  hands. 

"More  cheerful  than  the  study,  isn't  it!"  he 
said. 

"But  I  always  think  the  study  very  cosy,"  Geor- 
gina  answered. 

She  was  wishing  that  Bayke 's  housemaid  were  a 
little — or  rather  a  great  deal — less  conscientious. 
For  the  housemaid  guarded  Bayke 's  curtains  as  if 
they  were  her  own.  There  being  no  mistress,  as 
she  expressed  it,  she  was  obliged  to  look  after 
the  poor  gentleman's  things  for  him,  and  she 
looked  after  them  to  the  extent  of  keeping  the 
room,  for  the  most  part,  in  semi-darkness,  so  that 
the  sun  had  little  chance  of  softening  the  brilliance 
of  curtains,  table-cover  and  sofa-cushions.  To- 
day, irradiated  by  the  spring  sunshine,  all  these 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Bonham  specially  resplendent. 

Bayke  looked  round  him  with  a  smile. 

"Nothing  like  touches  of  colour,"  he  said,  "for 
making  a  room  look  bright." 

"  Or  a  garden, ' '  answered  Georgina,  whose  eyes 
were  directed  towards  the  bow- window.  "How 
splendid  your  hyacinths  look ! ' ' 

"Not  bad,  are  they?  Ah,  here  comes  the  tea. 
Would  you  like  the  table  near  the  fire  or  by  the 
window  ? ' ' 

"The  window,  please.  It's  not  cold  enough  to 
sit  over  the  fire." 

It  was  customary,  when  Mrs.  Bonham  took  tea 
with  Bayke,  for  her  to  pour  out  the  tea,  and  she 


NURSE  59 

took  her  place  in  front  of  the  tea-tray  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

"And  now,"  said  Rayke,  when  both  were  sup- 
plied with  tea  and  buttered  toast,  "let's  hear  how 
you  managed  Nurse." 

"Well,  she  came  in,"  said  Georgina,  "looking 
quite  like  herself,  as  if  she  thought  I  was  going 
to  talk  to  her  about  Dome's  clothes.  I'm  sure  she 
didn't  expect  in  the  least  there  was  going  to  be 
anything  unusual.  I  don't  know  that  the  idea  of 
leaving  had  ever  entered  her  head." 

Rayke  said:  "Probably  not.  Though  you 
would  have  thought  that  such  an  idea  might  have 
occurred  to  her." 

1 '  Yes,  you  would,  wouldn  't  you  ?  Anyhow, 
when  I  asked  her  to  sit  down,  she  sat  down  as  if 
—well,  as  cool  as  a  cucumber;  though  generally 
she  stands  when  I  send  for  her." 

"It  made  it,"  Rayke  remarked,  "rather  diffi- 
cult for  you  to  begin." 

"It  did;  of  course;  and — you  see,  I  don't  sup- 
pose those  kind  of  people  have  much  imagination. 
Even  when  I  spoke  of  Dorrie  getting  bigger  and  all 
that,  she  didn't  seem  to  realize." 

"No  doubt  she  thought  herself  a  fixture. 
That's  what  I  thought  she'd  think." 

Rayke  spoke  with  the  complacency  of  the 
prophet  whose  prophecies  have  come  to  pass. 

"And  even  when  I  said  that  Dorrie  required 
more  regular  lessons,  she  only  thought  of  a  gov- 
erness as  well  as  herself." 

"It  was  very  dull  of  her." 


60  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

1 '  It  was  very  disconcerting.  If  a  person  doesn  't 
give  you  a  lead  it's  so — so " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Rayke. 

"But  she  did  give  me  a  sort  of  lead  when  she 

asked  if  Dorrie  was  to  have  a  governess No, 

not  cake,  thank  you.  May  I  go  on  with  the  toast ? ' ' 

"I  know  my  cakes  can't  compare  with  yours,  but 
this  one,  by  the  way  it  cuts " 

"Oh,  but  they're  excellent,"  said  Georgina. 
"It's  only  that  the  toast's  so  good.  I'll  have  a 
piece  presently  if  you  won't  be  shocked  at  my 
appetite. ' ' 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Bonham!"  Rayke  shook  his 
head  at  her  across  the  table :  the  shake  said :  "Now, 
can  you  imagine  my  so  misunderstanding  you?" 

Mrs.  Bonham  responded  with  an  answering 
shake,  and  a  smile.  Archness  was  not  in  her 
nature,  but — very  occasionally — there  was  a  hint 
of  archness  in  her  manner  to  Rayke. 

"Well?"  Rayke  said. 

"Where  was  I?"  asked  Georgina. 

"Where  Nurse  had  asked  about  a  governess." 

"Oh  yes.  Well,  that  gave  me  an  idea.  I  said, 
'a  nursery  governess.'  " 

"I  presume  that  did  make  her  think  you  might 
contemplate  a  change?" 

"Yes.  All  of  a  sudden.  I  think  it  must  have 
come  like  a  sort  of  thunderbolt.  She  stood  up — 
she  almost  frightened  me." 

"So  long  as  she  didn't  fall  down,"  said  Rayke. 

"That  was  the  funny  part;  I  felt  as  if  she 
might. ' ' 


NUESE  61 

"But  she  didn't?" 

"No,  she  didn't.  But  I  asked  her  to  sit  down 
again,  in  case.  I  had  the  feeling  she  might,  and 
it  would  have  been  so  very  awkwaid." 

* '  Yes  indeed.    And  then  ? ' ' 

"Well  then,  you  see,  the  ice  was  broken." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Rayke,  "she  burst  into 
tears." 

"No,  she  didn't." 

"No?"  Rayke  pondered.  "I  rather  expected 
tears,"  he  said.  He  was  almost  disappointed. 
Here  was  a  forecast  which  had  not  come  off. 

"So  did  I,"  agreed  Georgina,  "but  I'm  glad  to 
say  there  weren't  any.  She  looked  rather  upset, 
something  like  she  does  when  she  has  toothache. 
By  the  way  I  wish  she'd  have  her  teeth  out;  it 
would  be  much  more  satisfactory." 

"And  much  more  healthy." 

"But  she  won't:  she  only  says  that  no  dentist's 
teeth  are  as  good  as  your  own.  Which  is  ridicu- 
lous." 

"It  depends,"  said  Rayke,  his  eyes  on  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  mouth. 

Georgina  smiled  slightly.  "Oh,  as  long  as 
they're  sound  of  course.  .  .  .  Well,  what  was  I 
saying?  Oh,  about  the  crying.  Oh  no,  she  was 
no  more  crying  than  you  are. ' ' 

"Very  extraordinary.  Perhaps  she  didn't  care 
so  much  after  all — not  nearly  as  much  as  you 
thought  she  would." 

"I — I  don't  know,"  said  Georgina  with  hesita- 
tion. She  had  the  feeling  that  Nurse  had  cared, 


62  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

did  care,  but  she  had  no  reason  for  the  feeling 
which  she  could  formulate  to  Rayke — or  indeed  to 
herself.  "The  point  is,"  she  added,  "that  Dorrie 
cares." 

"Of  course,  of  course.  That  was  the  point  all 
the  way  through." 

"The  thing  will  be  to  get  a  nursery  governess 
she  can  really  take  to,  somebody  who  will — sort 

of "  Mrs.  Bonham  came  to  a  standstill: 

neither  her  vocabulary  nor  her  mind  permitted 
subtlety  of  expression.  Nor,  to  any  large  extent, 
did  Rayke 's,  but  he  had  less  compunction  than 
Georgina  in  being  flat-footed. 

"Put  Nurse's  nose  out  of  joint,"  he  suggested. 

Mrs.  Bonham  coloured  slightly.  A  flush  im- 
proved her,  relieving  her  sallowness.  Rayke 
agreed  with  Mrs.  Vearing  that  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham always  looked  her  best  when  she  was  a  little 
confused,  and  thought  she  looked  very  nice  now 
with  her  pink  cheeks.  He  thought  too  that  she 
was  pleasantly  disingenuous  and  feminine  when 
she  said: 

"I  don't  want  to  hurt  Nurse." 

"I  know  you  don't,"  replied  Rayke,  and  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  the  insincerity  he  discerned 
in  Mrs.  Bonham 's  disavowal  was  present  in  his 
own. 

"I  only  want  to  break  this  exaggerated  sort  of 
clinging  to  her  on  the  part  of  Dorrie,  so  that  later 
on,  when  she  has  to  go,  there  will  be  no  disturb- 
ance." 

"If  the  tie  were  really  broken,"  said  Rayke, 


NURSE  63 

with  a  flash  of  inspiration,  "  there  would  be  no 
need  for  her  to  go.  I  mean  if  she  turns  out  a  good 
housemaid." 

"Per — perhaps  not,"  said  Georgina.  Again 
she  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that  though  it  might 
be  possible  to  break  Dorrie  from  clinging  to  Nurse, 
it  would  never  be  possible  to  prevent  Nurse  from 
clinging  to  Dorrie;  but  again  the  feeling  did  not 
shape  itself  into  an  idea  that  she  could  express. 
She  got  up  from  the  tea-table. 
"I  mustn't  trespass  any  longer  on  your  time." 

"Trespass?    My  dear  Mrs. " 

"And  besides,  Dorrie  will  be  expecting  me." 
"I  thought,"   Georgina  said  as   she  put  her 
gloves  on,  "that  you  would  be  interested — like  to 

know " 

"More  than  interested." 

"And  then  it's  always  a  relief  to  tell  things." 
"Well,  I  congratulate  you,"  Eayke  said  on  the 
way  to  the  front  door.    "You  pulled  it  off  with 
admirable  tact." 

Mrs.  Bonham  smiled :  she  was  inclined  to  agree 
with  him. 

CHAPTER  XV 

"Mummy,"  said  Dorrie,  "you're  very  late." 
"Have  you  been  waiting  for  me,  darling?"    It 

was  pleasant  to  Georgina  to  think  that  Dorrie  had 

wanted  her. 

"Of  course, ' '  Dorrie  answered.    ' 'If  you  wasn 't 
,  I  had  to  wait." 


64  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I  had  tea  with  Uncle  Eayke,  and  I  had  a  great 
deal  to  talk  to  him  about." 

To  this  statement  Dorrie  made  no  reply :  it  was 
of  so  obvious  a  nature  as  to  call  for  none.  That 
Mummy  should  have  much  to  tell  Uncle  Eayke 
was  part  of  the  natural  order  of  things;  the 
miracle,  the  extraordinary  occurrence,  would  have 
been  if  Mummy  had  announced  that  she  and  the 
Doctor  had  had  nothing  to  say  to  each  other. 
Leaving  the  commonplace  on  one  side,  Dorrie  went 
straight  for  the  subject  which  was  filling  her  own 
mind. 

"Nurse  says "  she  began;  but  Georgina  in- 
terrupted her. 

1 '  Come  into  the  garden  with  me,  darling.  I  want 
to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

To  be  sure  she  had  left  it  to  Nurse,  as  Nurse  had 
suggested  and  her  own  wisdom  had  dictated,  to 
convey  to  Dorrie  the  first  intimation  of  the  changes 
about  to  take  place;  in  Nurse's  language — lan- 
guage which  a  little  jarred  upon  Georgina — to 
"break  it  to  her":  but  in  discussing  these  changes 
she  was  anxious  to  disabuse  Dome's  mind  of  any 
idea  that  Nurse  was  the  potentate,  and  she, 
Dorrie 's  mother,  the  pawn.  The  child,  having  re- 
ceived the  information  by  means  expedient  but  re- 
grettable, must  be  induced  to  consider  that  infor- 
mation from  a  correct  and  wholesome  point  of 
view:  Georgina,  if  argument  were  necessary,  pre- 
ferred to  plead  as  plaintiff  rather  than  defendant. 

She  desired,  therefore,  to  lead  the  conversation, 
giving  prominence  to  what  in  the  situation  ought 


NUESE  65 

to  be  prominent.  But  it  was  not  easy,  as  she 
found  when  she  wanted  to  begin;  she  did  not,  in 
fact,  know  how  to  begin  at  all.  So  long  was  she  in 
beginning  that  Dorrie,  holding  her  hand,  pulled  it 
with  some  impatience. 

"Mummy,  you  said  you  was  going  to  talk. 
Why  don 't  you  talk,  Mummy  1 ' ' 

"Look  at  the  daffodils/'  said  Georgina,  "how 
beautifully  they're  coming  out." 

1  i  I  don 't  want  daffodils ;  I  want — Nurse  said — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Georgina  hurriedly,  "I  know 
what  Nurse  said.  Just  wait  a  minute,  Dorrie. ' ' 

There  was  a  little  seat  at  the  end  of  the  walk. 

"  We'll  sit  down  for  a  bit,"  said  Georgina. 
She  seated  herself,  and  Dorrie  sat  beside  her,  kick- 
ing her  feet,  which  did  not  reach  the  ground,  back- 
wards and  forwards. 

'  *  You  're  getting  quite  a  big  girl, ' '  Georgina  be- 
gan. "Everybody  thinks  so, — Uncle  Eayke  and 
all." 

"Only  not  big  enough  to  reach  down  when  I  sit," 
said  Dorrie.  "Flora's  bigger  than  me,"  she  went 
on,  "and  so's  Sylvia,  only  Sylvia's  older." 

"Flora's  unusually  tall  for  her  age.  We  go  by 
how  old  people  are  more  than  by  their  height. ' ' 

"Is  Uncle  Eayke  older  than  you,  Mummy?" 

Georgina  felt  that  she  was  being  drawn  away 
from  her  main  subject :  she  returned  to  it. 

"Never  mind  about  Uncle  Eayke  and  me.  What 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  is  that  you  are  six 
years  old ;  more  than  six,  six  and  a  half,  getting  on 
for  seven ;  and  when  people  get  to  that  age,  they're 


66  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

no  longer  babies  and  mustn't  behave  like  babies." 

"Mrs.  Jarvis's  baby  sucks  its  food  out  of  a  bot- 
tle," said  Dorrie.  "I  saw  it.  And  Mrs.  Allen's 
baby  sucks  its  food  out  of  Mrs.  Allen." 

"My  dear  Dorrie !"  began  Georgina. 

"But  I  saw  it,  Mummy,  I  saw  it  doing  it.  You 
see,  Mrs.  Allen's  its  mother,  and  Nurse  says " 

"I  wish  Nurse  would  be  more  careful,"  ex- 
claimed Georgina,  exasperated. 

"So  I  know  I'm  not  a  baby,"  Dorrie  went  on, 
"because  I  eat  off  a  plate.  You  see,  don't  you, 
Mummy!" 

Mummy's  mind  was  a  network  of  annoyance. 
That  Nurse  should  have  allowed  Mrs.  Allen  .  .  . 
not  have  removed  Dorrie  if  Mrs.  Allen  .  .  .  that 
to  try  to  explain  to  Dorrie  the  impropriety  of  Na- 
ture's crudities  was  hopeless  .  .  .  children  were 
so  impossible  .  .  .  that  she  was  not  getting  on 
with  her  talk,  or  saying  anything  she  wanted  to 
say;  all  this  was  producing  in  Mrs.  Bonham  a 
sense  of  impotent  vexation.  Clinging  to  her  self- 
control,  she  clung  to  the  sole  plank  flung  out  by 
Dorrie  upon  a  sea  of  perplexities. 

She  replied:  "You  are  certainly  not  a  baby. 
But  there  are  other  ways  of  not  being  a  baby  be- 
sides eating.  Babies  sleep  in  cradles." 

' ' I  don 't, ' '  Dorrie  put  in.     "I  sleep  in  a  cot. ' ' 

"Yes,  because  you're  not  a  baby.  And  babies 
sleep  in  nurseries " 

"And  little  girls,"  Dorrie  said  eagerly.  "Syl- 
via does,  and  Flora,  and  so  does  Eileen;  and  me 
too.  Don't  I,  Mummy?" 


NURSE  67 

"Yes,"  Georgina  agreed.  "But  you're  getting 
too  big  for  the  nursery.  That's  just  what  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  about.  You  are  big  enough  now  to 
have  a  room  of  your  own." 

"Sylvia  hasn't,"  Dorrie  began. 

"Never  mind  Sylvia,  Very  likely  there  isn't  a 
room  she  can  have.  But  you  are  to  have  a  room 
all  to  your  own  self,  the  dear  little  room  that  opens 
out  of  mine.  Won't  that  be  grown  up  and 
lovely?" 

"Nurse  says,"  Dorrie  said  wistfully,  "it  will  be 
great  fun." 

"And  so  it  will."  Georgina,  impatient  of  the 
quoted  authority,  was  compelled  to  back  it  up. 
"You  will  be  proud  to  have  a  room  of  your  very, 
very  own,  won't  you,  darling?" 

"Will  Nurse  tuck  me  up?"  asked  Dorrie. 

The  feeling  in  Georgina 's  mind  would  have  been 
accurately  expressed  by  the  words,  "Damn 
Nurse!"  but  all  she  said  was:  "Perhaps — to 
begin  with." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shan't  be  able  to  hear  Nurse 
breathe,"  Dorrie  said. 

"Breathe?  What  do  you  mean?  Does  Nurse 
snore?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so;  not  like  when  you  go  to 
sleep  on  Sunday  afternoon.  She  breathes  like 

this "  Dorrie  illustrated  her  statement. 

"And  when  I  wake  up  in  the  night  and  want  a 
drink,  I  know  there's  somebody  there." 

"God  is  there,"  said  Georgina.  "You  know 
that,  darling — that  God  is  everywhere." 


68  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I  want  somebody  who's  only  in  one  place," 
protested  Dorrie. 

"Besides,  7  shall  be  there."  Mrs.  Bonham  felt 
that  it  would  be  worse  than  useless  to  discuss  the 
adequacy  of  the  Divine  Presence.  "I'll  leave  the 
door  open,"  she  said. 

"If  I  want  a  drink,  I  shall  have  to  call  dreadful 
loud.  And  if  you  don't  hear,  I  shall  be  fright- 
ened." 

"Frightened?  Oh  no.  Big  girls  are  not  fright- 
ened." 

"Girls  as  big  as  me  are,"  Dorrie  affirmed. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  frightened  of.  What- 
ever are  you  frightened  of?" 

"I  don't  know  zackly,  but  I  am." 

"If  you're  frightened,  you  shall  come  into  my 
bed.  You'd  like  that,  wouldn't  you?  to  come  into 
Mummy's  bed?" 

"I  should  have  to  get  there,"  said  Dorrie  uncer- 
tainly, *  *  across  the  dark. ' ' 

"My  treasure,  if  you  call,  I'm  sure  to  hear  you. 
And  if  you're  frightened  ever  so  little,  I'll  come 
and  fetch  you." 

"Really  and  truly?" 

"Really  and  truly.  Darling,  Mummy's  some- 
times lonely  and  wants  you  very  badly.  Won't 
you  like  to  come  and  keep  Mummy  company?" 

"I'll  come,"  said  Dorrie,  "especially  as 
Nurse " 

Georgina  seized  the  child  and  stilled  her  words 
with  kisses. 


NURSE  69 

CHAPTER  XVI 

The  night,  to  which  Georgina  had  looked  for- 
ward, was  not  so  agreeable  in  fact  as  in  anticipa- 
tion. Dorrie,  in  spite  of  her  acceptance  of  the 
change  of  bedroom,  and  of  the  roseate  hues  in 
which  Nurse  had  pictured  the  change,  behaved  tire- 
somely,  though  of  the  full  extent  of  her  tiresome- 
ness Mrs.  Bonham  was  not  aware. 

She  knew  that  when  Dorrie  was  brought  to  her 
cot  in  the  dressing-room,  she  insisted  upon  Nurse 
tucking  her  in,  knew  it  because,  at  the  time,  she 
was  dressing  for  dinner.  She  did  not  know  that 
a  little  bell  placed  on  a  table  by  the  side  of  the 
cot,  in  case  Dorrie  should  call  and  nobody  should 
hear  her,  was  repeatedly  rung  while  Georgina  was 
dining;  nor  that  Nurse  was  finally  obliged  to  re- 
main by  Dorrie,  holding  the  child's  hand  till  it  re- 
laxed in  sleep. 

But  she  knew,  later  on,  what  it  was  to  have  a 
disturbed  night. 

Coming  up  to  bed  she  found  no  cause  for  any- 
thing but  self -congratulation.  For  Dorrie  at  this 
time  was  sleeping  peacefully.  She  looked  what 
Georgina  called  a  cherub,  and  gazing  down  at  the 
little  quiet  rosy  face,  and  the  plump  hand  lying 
outside  the  bedclothes,  Georgina 's  heart  swelled 
with  the  joy  of  full  possession.  At  last  the  child 
was  her  own,  her  very  own ;  at  last  she,  the  mother, 
had  sole  charge  of  her ;  at  last  she  had  got  her  out 
of  the  hands  of  that  woman.  She  found  herself 


70  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

thinking  of  the  discomfited  Nurse  as  "that 
woman." 

That  Nurse  was  discomfited  Georgina  had  no 
doubt ;  she  took  the  discomfiture  for  granted ;  but 
expended  upon  it  no  sympathy.  For  Nurse  had 
no  right  to  Dorrie  's  affection,  no  just  claim  on  her 
presence:  if  she  suffered,  her  suffering  resulted 
from  the  deprivation  of  an  encroachment,  at  best, 
of  a  privilege :  her  grievance,  if  grievance  she  had, 
was  not  legitimate,  and,  being  illegitimate,  de- 
manded no  commiseration.  She  would  miss 
Dorrie,  of  course.  Who  could  help  missing  her? 
But  not  to  the  same  extent,  or  anything  like  it,  to 
which  Georgina  had  missed  her,  since — this  was 
Georgina 's  reasoning — Georgina  was  Dorrie 's 
mother  and  Nurse  wasn't.  Moreover  she  was 
fortified  in  her  denial  of  pity  by  the  sense  that  she 
had  been  generous.  She  might  have  sent  Nurse 
away,  and  she  had  kept  her :  that  she  had  kept  her, 
not  for  Nurse's  sake  but  for  Dome's,  was  a  con- 
sideration which,  interred  in  her  sub-conscious- 
ness, was  allowed  no  resurrection  in  the  sphere  of 
avowed  motives. 

There  was  therefore  no  fly  in  the  ointment  of  her 
maternal  satisfaction.  The  fly  came  later.  It  re- 
vealed its  presence  soon  after  Georgina  had  sunk 
into  her  first  sleep,  a  sleep,  with  her,  always  pro- 
found ;  and  important,  inasmuch  as  upon  its  being 
undisturbed  depended  her  night's  rest  as  a  whole. 
From  this  sleep  she  was  aroused  by  the  buzzing  of 
the  fly;  in  other  words  by  plaintive  cries.  At  first, 


NURSE  71 

in  the  confused  half-waking  consciousness,  she 
wondered  what  the  sound  was,  what  on  earth  it 
meant;  then  recollection  rushed  in.  She  had 
fallen  asleep  thinking  of  the  delight  of  Dorrie's 
near  neighbourhood :  this  was  part  of  the  delight. 
Georgina,  whose  instinctive  impulse  was  to  run  in 
the  rut  of  right  sentiment,  at  once  told  herself 
how  charming  it  was  to  be  able  to  minister  to  her 
child's  necessities. 

"Dorrie!"  she  called.    " Darling,  is  that  you?" 

1 l  Yes,  it 's  me.     Why  didn  't  you  answer  ? ' ' 

"I  was— I—         What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  do  come!"  Dorrie  cried.  "Come  at 
once ! ' ' 

Georgina,  fumbling  for  the  matches,  could  not  at 
first  find  the  box;  then,  having  found  it,  fumbled 
in  getting  out  a  match;  and  the  head  of  the  first 
match  came  off  when  she  tried  to  strike  it.  And 
all  the  time  from  the  neighbouring  room  the  call 
came:  " Oh,  do  come,  Mummy !  Come  quick!" 

Everything  was  against  Georgina.  Before  put- 
ting out  the  candle,  she  had  knocked  off  a  too  tall 
wick;  the  portion  left  was  so  infinitesimal  as  to 
make  the  task  of  igniting  it  one  of  tremulous  sus- 
pense; when  it  was  ignited,  she  could  move  only 
with  slow  caution,  lest  the  tiny  flame  should  col- 
lapse. Shading  it  with  one  hand  from  the 
draught,  she  arrived  at  last  beside  Dorrie's  cot. 

"Oh,  Mummy!"  said  Dorrie,  "how  funny  you 
look  with  your  hair  down!" 

"Whatever  is  the  matter?"  Georgina  asked. 


72  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I  woke  up  and  there  was  nobody  there.'* 

"But,  darling,  you  knew  I  was  there,  in  the  next 
room,  close  to  you." 

"No,  I  didn't,  because  I  didn't  know  where  I 
was.  I  couldn't  in  the  dark,  could  I,  Mummy?" 

"You  could  remember,  darling,  surely,  just  as 
well  in  the  dark  as  in  the  light." 

"I  didn't  remember,  I  forgot.  And  I  called 
Nurse,  and  I  wanted  a  drink,  and  I  thought  I  was 
in  my  very  own  nursery.  And  Nurse  didn't  an- 
swer." 

"But,  darling,  you  remember? — you  must  have 
remembered — that  you  were  in  your  very  own  new 
room  all  to  yourself,  next  to  Mummy,  and  that 
Mummy  was  quite  close?" 

"Afterwards  I  remembered,  and  the  more  I  re- 
membered, the  more  darker  it  was  and  the  more  I 
called  and  called." 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  Georgina  began. 

"And  you  never  answered,  Mummy,  not  for  ever 
and  ever  so  long,  and  you  said  you  would. 
Nurse " 

"Did  you  say  you  wanted  a  drink  of  water?" 
Georgina  asked  hastily.  "Shall  I  get  you  one?" 

"I'm  not  thirsty  now,"  Dome  answered.  "I 
was  only  thirsty  before  I  was  frightened." 

"You're  not  frightened  now,  though,  not  any 
more?" 

Dorrie's  courage,  present  in  the  presence  of  her 
mother  and  the  candle,  threatened  however  to  de- 
part with  the  departure  of  these  two  custodians  of 
it.  Georgina  was  obliged  to  fetch  a  dressing-gown 


NURSE  73 

and  soothe  Dorrie  into  slumber,  as  Nurse  in  the 
evening  had  soothed  her. 

The  nights  were  still  cold,  and  Mrs.  Bonham, 
sitting  by  the  cot,  felt  herself,  in  spite  of  the  dress- 
ing-gown, getting  colder  and  colder.  She  was 
truly  thankful  when  Dorrie 's  closed  eyes  and  regu- 
lar breathing  allowed  her  to  go  back  to  bed. 

In  bed  she  grew  warm  again,  but  hardly  sleepy ; 
sleep,  banished  in  its  first  delicious  completeness, 
refused  to  return;  she  turned  from  side  to  side, 
growing  ever  more  restless  with  the  unsatisfied 
desire  to  rest.  She  did  not  realize  that  she  had  at 
last  reached  the  condition  of  dimmed  conscious- 
ness which  precedes  sleep  till  she  was  roused  from 
it  by  a  sound  from  the  next  room. 

1 1  Mummy, ' '  a  voice  was  calling.  * '  Mummy ! ' ' 
Georgina  answered  at  once.  "Yes,  what  is  it?" 
It  was  Dorrie,  of  course,  and  she  wanted  a  drink. 
The  drink  administered,  Dorrie  was  seized  with 
an  attack  of  sleeplessness;  the  extinguishing  of 
the  candle  seemed  to  be  the  signal  for  her  to  wake 
up.  Georgina,  in  the  end,  was  constrained  to  take 
the  child  into  her  own  bed,  of  the  larger  part  of 
which,  the  bed  being  a  single  one,  Dorrie  took  pos- 
session, sleeping  at  last  profoundly;  while  Geor- 
gina, lying  on  the  bed's  extreme  edge,  was  haunted 
by  the  possibility,  should  she  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
fall  asleep,  of  being  precipitated  on  to  the  floor. 
Lying  there,  unable  to  stretch  her  limbs  at  ease, 
and  afraid  to  hazard  the  waking  up  of  Dorrie  by 
any  but  the  slightest  changes  of  position,  she  was 
half  tempted  to  seek  relief  in  the  rejected  services 


74  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

of  "that  woman,"  and,  handing  Dome  over  to  her 
care,  to  return  to  the  state  of  irresponsible  inde- 
pendence which  seemed  to  her  now  to  have  been 
entirely  unappreciated.  The  joy  of  being  able  to 
turn  over !  to  stretch  herself  out  and  curl  herself 
up!  the  comfort  of  being  able  to  sink  into  the 
peaceful  sleep  which  she  felt  was  waiting,  as  it 
were,  round  the  corner,  and  would  turn  the  corner 
speedily  if  it  were  given  half  a  chance !  Maternity 
was  a  privilege  and  a  pleasure  .  .  .  and  the  abso- 
lute possession  of  one's  own  child  undeniably 
sweet  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  Fitfully  dozing  Geor- 
gina  was  haunted  by  the  "but,"  and  was  more  than 
once  inclined  to  let  it  govern  the  situation.  But 
pride,  and  an  underlying  consciousness  of  the  hu- 
miliation that  would  come  with  the  morning,  pre- 
vailed, and  in  spite  of  discomfort  and  fatigue  she 
stuck  to  her  chosen  post. 

Dorrie,  waking  in  the  morning,  was  first  sur- 
prised and  then,  in  the  daylight,  comfortingly 
pleased  to  find  herself  in  Mummy's  bed.  Nurse 
had  said  it  would  be  great  fun  sleeping  next  to 
Mummy,  and  it  was — rather.  Reminded  of  her 
vagaries  of  the  night,  with  representations  of  poor 
Mummy's  broken  rest,  she  was  sweetly  penitent, 
showering  pity  and  caresses  on  poor  Mummy,  and 
excusing  herself  in  words  to  which  Georgina  found 
no  answer. 

"You  see,  Mummy,  I  didn't  know  where  I  was; 
and  when  you  don 't  know  where  you  are,  you  don 't 
know  what  to  do,  do  you,  Mummy!" 


BOOK  II 
THE  SUBSTITUTES 

CHAPTER  I 

MRS.  Bonham's  nursery  governesses  were  a 
source  of  interest,  of  speculation,  of  con- 
versation to  all  Stottleham. 

There  was  quite  a  series  of  them. 

The  first  was  regarded  as  a  fixture,  for  Mrs. 
Bonham's  arrangements  were  usually  stable,  and 
Stottleham  suffered  a  shock  of  surprise  at  her 
abrupt  departure.  With  regard  to  the  second  and 
third  of  the  series,  the  question  was :  Will  she  do? 
As  to  the  rest,  speculation  was  busied  with  the  en- 
quiry :  How  long  will  she  stay  ?  '  *  She ' '  changed, 
not  indeed  with  the  rapidity  of  forms  upon  a  bio- 
graph,  but  with  a  frequency  combining  elements 
of  bewilderment  and  piquancy.  For  hardly  was 
curiosity  centred  on  the  problem  of  how  Miss 
Jones  was  getting  on,  when  it  was  diverted  to  a 
channel  of  expectancy  as  to  the  arrival  of  Miss 
Brown ;  and  hardly  had  the  outer  circles  of  Stottle- 
ham received  the  information  that  Dorrie  had 
''taken  to"  Miss  Brown,  when  already  rumours 
were  afloat  concerning  the  advent  of  Miss  Robin- 
son. 

Dorrie  took  to  them  all,  except  to  Mrs.  Flores, 
who  described  herself  as  the  widow  of  a  profes- 
sional man.  Mrs.  Flores  slapped  Dome's  kitten 

75 


76  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

and  then  slapped  Dorrie  for  siding  with  the  kitten, 
with  the  result  that  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  came  near 
to  slapping  that  dreadful  Mrs.  Flores,  who  left 
after  the  shortest  of  probations  and  almost,  as  you 
might  say,  without  unpacking  her  boxes. 

Dome's  friendliness  towards  the  many  aspir- 
ants to  the  task  of  teaching  her  was  almost  unfor- 
tunate, inasmuch  as  it  deprived  the  changing  situ- 
ation of  one  element  of  change  and  narrowed  the 
range  of  discussion.  If  only  she  had  disliked  Miss 
Grey  for  one  reason  and  shrunk  from  Miss  Green 
for  another,  the  boundaries  of  conjecture  and  com- 
ment would  have  been  appreciably  enlarged.  But 
she  was  disposed  to  like  them  all;  and  they  all 
liked  Dorrie,  always  excepting  the  ill-natured  Mrs. 
Flores.  As  it  was,  discussion,  conjecture,  asser- 
tion or  hearsay  were  restricted  to  the  experiences, 
opinions  and  remarks  of  poor  dear  Mrs.  Bonham; 
for  after  the  exodus  of  number  four,  "poor"  was 
frequently  prefixed  to  the  "dear,"  and  sometimes 
substituted  for  it. 

Poor  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  really  had,  for  a  time, 
rather  a  trying  time.  Her  success  in  wresting  the 
reins  of  responsibility  from  the  hands  of  Nurse 
had  been  followed  by  her  entry  upon  a  bad  patch. 
The  first  night  of  parental  responsibility  was  but  a 
foretaste  of  worse  worries  that  were  to  follow. 
Not  that  Dorrie  persisted  in  being  restless  at  night 
or  that  Georgina's  sleep  was  unfailingly  broken: 
Dorrie  settled  down  gradually  to  the  new  order  of 
things,  and  Georgina  learned  how,  having  been 
roused  to  assuage  the  child's  thirst  or  soothe  her 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  77 

fears,  to  fall  asleep  again.  It  was  the  nightmare 
of  the  nursery  governesses  which  disturbed  her  at 
night  and  harried  her  in  the  day. 

The  establishing  of  a  nursery  governess  had 
seemed  a  task  supremely  simple;  the  article  was 
so    plentiful,    the    supply    apparently   unlimited. 
The  answers  to  her  application  came  in  shoals ;  she 
had  but  to  pick  and  choose;  and  in  picking  and 
choosing  she  had  accounted  herself  an  expert. 
Was  she  not  an  expert?  or  was  it  that  there  did  not 
exist,  in  the  ranks  of  nursery  governesses,  a  breast 
in  which  her  ideas  and  opinions  upon  the  educa- 
tion of  children  could  find  an  echo?    Georgina, 
fresh   from   the    conquest    of   the   nursery,   had 
marched — and  at  the  double — towards  success  in 
the  schoolroom,  and  had  been  pulled  up  short  in  the 
initial  encounter  with  schoolroom  forces.    Nurse, 
had  she  been  given  to  laughing  with  the  gods  at 
the  futile  efforts  of  mortals,  might,  from  the  cita- 
del of  the  housework,  have  laughed  at  her  mis- 
tress's efforts;  might  have,  meeting  her  on  the 
stairs,  betrayed  by  smile  or  glance  a  hardly  veiled 
triumph;    might,    when    directed    once    again    to 
change  the  sheets  on  the  nursery  governess's  bed, 
have  said,  if  not  in  so  many  words,  at  any  rate  in 
so  many  innuendoes:     "Ah,  now  you  see!"    But 
Nurse  said  nothing.     She  had  never  been  voluble 
in  expressing  her  opinions ;  now,  as  far  as  domestic 
politics  were  concerned,  she  expressed  no  opinions 
at  all.     She  did  not  even  purse  her  lips  when  Geor- 
gina perforce  alluded  to  the  going  of  Miss  This  and 
the  coming  of  Miss  That. 


78  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

There  were  moments  when  Georgina  almost 
wished  she  would,  moments  when  discussion  of  the 
situation  on  any  terms  would  have  been  a  relief, 
moments  when  even  a  gibe  on  the  part  of  Nurse 
would  have  been  in  effect  less  unsympathetic  than 
Nurse's  inscrutability.  But  the  gibe  never  came, 
nor  even  tempered  disapproval.  For  if  Georgina 
said — and  after  a  time  she  was  obliged  to  say  it — : 
"What  do  you  think  of  Miss  So  and  So?"  Nurse's 
unvarying  reply  was :  ' '  She  seems  a  nice  sort  of 
person,  ma'am,  so  far  as  I  come  acrost  her." 

Only  once  was  Nurse's  composure  upset,  and 
that  was  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Flores.  Then  her 
crimson  cheeks  and  angry  eyes  drew  Mrs.  Bonham 
towards  her  as  she  had  never  before  been  drawn ; 
she  was  in  fact  tempted  to  confide  to  Nurse  her 
perplexities  and  disappointment;  had  Nurse  ex- 
pressed her  feelings,  Georgina  might  have  given 
vent  to  hers.  But  Nurse  expressed  nothing,  save 
by  means  of  inflamed  features ;  and  Georgina,  hav- 
ing trembled  on  the  brink  of  expansion,  resumed 
the  mistress's  reserve,  while  Nurse,  who  had  been 
for  a  brief  space  very  Nurse,  again  became 
Hannah. 

As  Hannah  she  was  excellent,  thorough  in  her 
work,  careful,  conscientious.  There  were  times 
when  Georgina  asked  herself:  "What  excuse  can 
I  make  when  I  want  to  get  rid  of  her?" 

As  yet  the  time  of  wanting  to  get  rid  of  her  had 
not  arrived.  Georgina  in  fact  looked  upon  Han- 
nah as  a  sort  of  reservist;  debarring  her  from 
active  service  lest  she  should  take  too  high  a  com- 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  79 

mand,  there  was  yet  in  Georgina's  consciousness 
the  shadow,  as  it  were,  of  contingencies  in  which 
Hannah  might  have  to  be  called  up.  The  contin- 
gencies, however,  were  not  yet  actual.  Through 
the  ranks  of  registry  offices  and  the  flood  of  adver- 
tisements in  the  " Times"  Georgina  would  go  be- 
fore she  called  up  Hannah,  and  she  was  as  yet  only 
at  the  beginning  of  the  resources  offered  through 
these  two  avenues  of  experiment.  In  the  mean- 
time, though  comfort,  condolence  and  a  confidante 
were  lacking  within  the  walls  of  her  home,  all  Stot- 
tleham,  or  most  of  it,  was  longing  to  condole  with 
and  to  receive  the  confidences  of  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham. 

CHAPTER  H 

Of  all  the  sympathizers,  Mrs.  Vearing  was  the 
most  tenderly  and  delicately  sympathetic.  Dr. 
Eayke  was  full  of  commiseration,  but  his  pity  was 
in  excess  of  his  understanding.  He  was  sincerely 
sorry  for  Mrs.  Bonham;  it  was  hard  luck  on  her; 
and  he  wished  devoutly  (a  little  for  his  own  sake, 
as  well  as  for  hers)  that  she  could  find  a  suitable 
person  to  look  after  Dorrie.  But  he  did  not  fully 
appreciate  the  difficulties ;  looking  upon  the  finding 
of  a  nursery  governess  as  woman's  work,  he  failed 
in  appraising  the  obstacles  to  success,  the  vexa- 
tions and  disappointments  in  the  path  of  the  seek- 
ing woman.  In  his  mind  was  just  a  tinge  of  sus- 
picion that  if  Mrs.  Bonham  was  not  suited,  the  fact 
was  due,  a  little  tiny  bit,  to  Mrs.  Bonham,  or  rather 


80  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

to  an  inherent  unsoundness  in  feminine  capacity, 
even  within  an  entirely  feminine  sphere. 

Georgina  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  been  con- 
scious of  the  flaw  in  Rayke's  attitude,  but  she  felt 
vaguely  that  the  bad  patch  on  which  she  found 
herself  was  the  kind  of  patch  somewhat  outside  the 
comprehension  of  the  masculine  mind.  Her  tend- 
ency to  confide  in  Mrs.  Vearing  received  therefore 
at  this  time  an  added  impulse  towards  outpouring, 
while  her  habit  of  consulting  Bayke  was  checked. 
She  imagined  that  she  did  not  want  to  trouble  him : 
what  she  really  did  not  want  was  discussion  with 
anyone  whose  sympathy  did  not  combine  unques- 
tioning commendation  with  whole-hearted  condo- 
lence. 

At  the  Needlework  Guild  the  sympathy  ex- 
pressed was  permeated  by  both  these  elements,  and 
at  the  Needlework  Guild,  in  consequence,  Georgina 
a  little  bit  let  herself  go.  The  spirit  of  criticism, 
to  be  sure,  was  not  altogether  absent.  Miss  True- 
fitt,  for  instance,  who  had  sniffed  slightly  over  the 
violets,  sniffed  more  definitely  over  the  immaculate 
Mrs.  Bonham's  misadventures ;  and  Mrs.  Markham 
had  a  secret  conviction  that  she  could  have  handled 
the  situation  better  than  did  Mrs.  Bonham,  for  all 
the  latter 's  social  superiority. 

But  Mrs.  Markham 's  conviction  remained  secret 
and  Miss  Truefitt's  sniffs  were  inaudible,  and  the 
sentiments  of  those  who  had  any  leanings  towards 
the  views  of  these  two  ladies  remained — at  least 
during  Guild  hours — unuttered.  Their  glances, 
their  gestures  and  their  spoken  words  revealed 


81 

during  those  hours  no  jot  or  tittle  of  dissension 
from  the  prevailing  attitude ;  and  thus  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham,  scenting  nothing  but  sympathy,  relaxed  her 
habitual  reserve  of  bearing,  and  let  herself  to  some 
extent  go  in  describing  the  trials  which  beset  her. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  the  ins  and  outs  of  Mrs. 
Bonham  's  new  arrangements  were  known  and  dis- 
cussed throughout  Stottleham.  The  Needlework 
Guild  formed,  as  it  were,  the  reservoir  into  which 
was  poured  information  from  the  fountain  head, 
and  thence,  by  as  many  channels  as  there  were 
members,  was  the  information  distributed  in  the 
outer  world. 

The  channels  varied  in  respect  of  accuracy  since 
within  the  reservoir  were  reservations;  for  Mrs. 
Bonham  did  not  talk  to  everybody.  But  she  ex- 
tended the  circle  of  those  to  whom  she  did  talk. 
And  she  also  raised  her  voice.  So  that  those  mem- 
bers who  were  not  directly  addressed,  either  over- 
heard much  of  what  was  confided  to  the  elect,  or 
had  portions  of  Mrs.  Bonham 's  utterances  passed 
on  to  them.  The  result  was  that  the  reports  circu- 
lated in  Stottleham  were  sometimes  conflicting; 
and  there  were  arguments  as  to  whether  it  was 
number  four  or  five  who  had  been  guilty  of  a  par- 
ticular delinquency,  and  as  to  whether  number 
three  had  really  refused  to  hear  Dorrie  say  her 
prayers. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  Dorrie  who  had  re- 
fused to  pray  at  the  knee,  not  of  number  three 
alone,  but  of  all  the  numbers.  If  she  was  a  big 
girl,  she  was  going  to  say  her  prayers  at  a  chair, 


82  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

she  had  declared,  and  it  was  the  attempt  of  the  un- 
fortunate number  three  to  abrogate  a  newly  ac- 
quired privilege,  by  trying  to  take  the  place  of  the 
chair,  that  had  caused  the  trouble.  But,  except  in 
this  instance,  Dorrie  had  hardly  been  a  factor  in 
the  difficulties :  it  was  Georgina's  anxiety  to  secure 
exactly  the  right  person,  with  exactly  the  right 
accent,  manner,  views,  principles,  appearance  and 
influence,  which  caused  every  fresh  broom  to  fail 
in  complete  cleanliness  of  sweeping  at  an  early 
date,  and  sometimes  when  brand  new. 

Her  carefulness,  indeed,  was  considered  by  some 
of  her  friends  to  approach  to  carping.  The  Vicar, 
for  instance,  who  was  somewhat  given  to  mild 
joking,  remarked  to  his  wife  that  the  odd  numbers 
in  Mrs.  Bonham's  procession  of  nursery  govern- 
esses were  all  odd,  but  the  even  numbers  were 
"even"  odder:  but  Mrs.  Vearing  was  so  vexed  by 
the  hint  of  a  reflection  on  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  that 
the  Vicar  was  obliged  to  stop  laughing  almost  be- 
fore he  had  begun  to  smile.  He  consoled  himself 
by  repeating  his  joke  (which  he  privately  thought 
rather  good)  to  Dr.  Rayke  over  a  pipe ;  and  Rayke 
sniggered. 

Georgina,  had  she  heard  the  snigger,  would  prob- 
ably never  have  consulted  him  again ;  but  she  did 
not,  of  course,  hear  it,  nor  did  she  conceive  the 
possibility  of  such  an  enormity  on  the  part  of  her 
friend ;  and  it  must  be  stated  that  Rayke 's  sense  of 
loyalty  caused  him  to  curtail  the  sniggering.  Cur- 
tailing it,  he  excused  himself  and  Mrs.  Bonham  in 
a  breath,  conveying  to  the  Vicar  that,  though  he 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  83 

was  such  a  funny  dog  that  one  couldn't  help  laugh- 
ing at  his  witticisms,  Mrs.  Bonham,  nevertheless, 
must  not  be  made  a  target  for  ridicule.  She  was  a 
woman,  they  must  remember,  and  alone.  She  con- 
sulted him  a  good  deal  and  he  helped  her  all  he 
could,  but  he  couldn't  of  course  look  after  every- 
thing, and  women  .  .  .  "Yes,  yes,"  agreed  the 
Vicar, '  *  quite  so. ' '  He  had  the  sense  of  being  ever 
so  slightly  snubbed,  but  he  did  not  mind.  He  had 
no  desire  to  ridicule  Mrs.  Bonham;  all  he  wanted 
was  that  his  joke  should  be  appreciated,  and  Eayke 
had  appreciated  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

It  did  not  enter  into  Georgina's  head  that  any- 
body could  laugh  at  her.  In  the  first  place  she  was 
Mrs.  Bonham,  and  in  the  second  place  it  would 
have  been  too  unkind.  For  she  was  genuinely  dis- 
tressed. Ardently  desiring  to  do  the  best  for 
Dorrie,  she  seemed  to  have  happened  upon  an  im- 
possible way  of  doing  it.  She  began  to  think  that 
she  must  abandon  that  way — the  way  of  nursery 
governesses — so  many  were  the  Miss  Wrongs  who 
darkened  her  door  before  the  coming  of  Miss  Com- 
paratively Eight. 

The  many  who  tried  and  failed  were  divided  into 
two  main  classes,  the  negatively  incompetent  and 
the  positively  deplorable;  and  of  the  latter  some 
were  made  impossible  by  their  vices  and  others  by 
their  views.  Georgina  hardly  knew  which  were 


84  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

the  worse,  judging  them  always  from  the  stand- 
point of  their  effect  upon  Dorrie. 

Amongst  the  vicious  was  Miss  Snell,  who  smoked 
in  her  bedroom.  Georgina  smelt  the  smoke,  in 
spite  of  Miss  Snell's  cunning  precaution  of  open- 
ing the  window.  She  announced  her  discovery  at 
the  Guild,  and  at  once  the  news  went  forth  to 
Stottleham ;  poor  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  had  smelt  the 
smoke  in  Miss  Snell's  bedroom.  What  an  exam- 
ple! Stottleham  was  rather  anxious  to  see  Miss 
Snell.  Women  who  smoked  in  their  bedrooms 
were  unknown  in  any  society  in  that  town  that 
called  itself  respectable.  What  did  such  a  woman 
look  like?  It  must  be  confessed  that  even  the 
Vicar  was  desirous  of  seeing  Miss  Snell.  Eayke 
alone  made  any  attempt  to  diminish  the  darkness 
of  her  reputation ;  but  then  Eayke  had  lived  many 
years  in  London  and  was  accounted  something  of 
a  dog. 

Then  there  was  Miss  Parkins,  who  bit  her  nails. 
This  in  itself  was  a  lesser  crime  than  smoking,  but 
as  a  habit  likely  to  be  adopted  by  an  imitative  child 
was  perhaps  more  dangerous.  That  this  was  Mrs. 
Bonham 's  view  was  made  known  to  Stottleham 
through  the  usual  channels,  and  Stottleham  in  the 
main  agreed:  though  there  were  those  who  main- 
tained that,  from  the  point  of  view  of  morality, 
Miss  Parkins 's  nails  were  as  chalk  to  the  cheese  of 
Miss  Snell's  cigarettes. 

It  was  somewhat  hotly  debated  whether  Miss 
Grey's  habit  of  eating  peppermints  in  church  did 
or  did  not  come  within  the  category  of  vices.  The 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  85 

church  set  as  a  whole  condemned  the  practice, 
whereas  the  nonconformists  were  disposed  to  a 
view  lenient  if  not  sympathetic.  But  even  within 
the  church  set  there  were  varying  degrees  of  con- 
demnation, amounting  almost  to  difference  of  opin- 
ion; for  Miss  Slade,  who  was  "low,"  declared  the 
peppermints  to  be  merely  a  weakness,  while  Mrs. 
Puckeridge,  who  was  "high,"  regarded  them  as  a 
blasphemy.  Mrs.  Ansell,  who  was  inclined  to  be 
"broad,"  considered  it  was  a  matter  for  Miss 
Grey's  individual  conscience.  Georgina,  however, 
to  whom  the  smell  of  peppermint  was  obnoxious, 
classed  the  practice  as  a  vice,  and  Miss  Grey  fol- 
lowed in  the  wake  of  Miss  Parkins  and  Miss  Snell. 

In  the  end  Georgina  came  to  look  upon  the  vices 
as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  views.  For  the 
vices  were  patent;  you  knew  what  a  person  was 
doing;  but  who  could  tell  what  strange  and  unor- 
thodox, what  peculiar  and  terrible  ideas  the  per- 
sons with  views  might  instil  into  the  mind  of 
Dorrie? 

The  first  peculiar  person  was  more  a  trial  than 
a  danger :  she  was  only  a  teetotaller,  and  therefore 
harmless.  Georgina  did  not  in  the  least  mind  her 
being  a  teetotaller ;  she  had  no  desire  to  ply  Miss 
Sweedham  with  the  contents  of  her  cellar,  and  was 
affable  in  regard  to  her  preference  for  water  over 
wine  at  the  one-o'clock  meal  which  was  Georgina 's 
lunch  and  the  dinner  of  Miss  Sweedham  and  Dor- 
rie.  What  she  objected  to  was  not  Miss  Sweed- 
ham's  practice  but  her  preaching,  her  stories  and 
strictures  of  intemperance;  for  Georgina  had  an 


86  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

uncomfortable  consciousness  that  they  were  lev- 
elled against  her  own  harmless  glass  of  claret. 
Such  talk  was  unsuitable  for  the  ears  of  a  child, 
and  was  also  ridiculous — in  connection  with  Geor- 
gina.  As  if,  said  Stottleham,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 
could  exceed! 

Dear  Mrs.  Bonham  was  naturally  annoyed — and 
hurt,  and  so  was  Stottleham  through  and  because 
of  her.  Impossible  to  keep  such  a  person!  So 
Miss  Sweedham  had  to  go,  and  Hannah  was  di- 
rected to  prepare  the  nursery-governess's  room  for 
a  fresh  aspirant  to  the  task  of  educating  Dorrie. 

On  a  level  with  Miss  Sweedham  was  Miss 
Swayne.  Her  views  no  more  than  Miss  Sweed- 
ham's  could  be  called  pernicious,  but  they  were 
tiresome,  and,  like  Miss  Sweedham,  she  was  a 
propagandist.  Her  enthusiasm  was  in  the  direc- 
tion of  dress  reform,  and  Mrs.  Bonham  who  had 
chafed  at  implied  condemnation  of  her  claret  was 
even  more  irritated  by  indirect  criticism  of  her 
corsets.  Miss  Swayne  disdained  corsets,  with 
what,  in  Mrs.  Bonham 's  eyes,  were  deplorable  re- 
sults. It  was  not  long  before  all  Stottleham  knew 
that  Miss  Swayne  had  no  waist.  Lake  a  pillow  she 
was,  with — no,  without  a  string  round  the  middle. 
So  different  from  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 's  rounded 
lines !  Moreover  she  wore  Jaeger  nightgowns  and 
had  brought  with  her  Jaeger  sheets,  which  were — 
or  were  to  be — so  rumour  had  it,  rarely  washed. 
Perhaps,  Miss  Pottlebury  suggested,  Miss  Swayne 
suffered  from  rheumatism;  and  Miss  Truefitt  re- 
marked that  she  didn't  see  that  it  mattered  what 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  87 

Miss  Swayne  wore  when  she  was  in  bed.  But  the 
rheumatism  was  authoritatively  denied;  and  Mrs. 
Bonham,  it  was  asserted,  did  attach  importance  to 
her  nursery-governess's  ideas  as  to  underclothing. 
Supposing  Dorrie  were  to  develop  a  craze  for 
Jaeger,  or  refuse  the  support  of  corsets  to  her 
spine  ?  If  there  was  one  thing  Dorrie  was  not  to 
be,  it  was  peculiar.  So  the  fiat  went  forth,  and 
Miss  Swayne  added  one  more  to  the  failures. 

But  in  the  ranks  of  the  view  holders,  both  Miss 
Sweedham  and  Miss  Swayne  were  as  nothing  to 
Miss  Bootham.  Miss  Sweedham  was  only  provok- 
ing and  Miss  Swayne 's  views  could  hardly  be 
called  pernicious;  but  Miss  Bootham  was  odd. 
Teetotalism,  uncomfortably  supererogatory  in  the 
domain  of  respectability,  was  established  and  ac- 
cepted ;  heaps  of  quite  nice  people,  even  in  the  best 
set  in  Stottleham,  drank  no  wine — Mrs.  Vearing 
for  instance.  And  Jaeger  underclothing,  though 
ridiculous  and  unnecessary,  was  after  all  only  an 
exaggeration  of  the  quite  respectable  axiom  that 
it  was  well  to  wear  flannel  next  the  skin.  But  Miss 
Bootham  was  an  anti-vivisectionist. 

She  arrived  just  after  the  Guild  had  again  met 
in  the  autumn,  and  she  provided  it  with  a  fresh 
fund  of  conversation.  Members  of  the  Guild  vied 
with  each  other  in  repeating  what  Miss  Bootham 
had  said;  how  she  had  asserted  that  animals  had 
rights,  which  was  almost  as  dangerous  as  saying 
that  women  had,  and  even  more  absurd;  how  she 
had  declared  to  be  true  things  which  everybody 
knew  to  be  false ;  and  how  she  had  even  said  that 


88  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

experiments  on  animals  led  to  experiments  on 
human  beings. 

Miss  Bootham  had  said  these  things  to  Mrs. 
Bonham.  Mrs.  Bonham,  while  denying  Miss  Boot- 
ham's  statements,  had  said,  at  the  same  time,  that 
she  should  make  enquiries.  Stottleham  declared 
that  it  was  just  like  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  to  make  en- 
quiries :  she  was  always  so  open-minded. 

So  Mrs.  Bonham  enquired  of  the  Vicar  and  of 
Dr.  Bayke. 

The  Vicar  said  he  had  never  heard  of  any  of  the 
things  that  Miss  Bootham  had  declared  to  be  facts, 
and  Rayke  said  that  Miss  Bootham  didn't  know 
what  she  was  talking  about,  and  that  the  subject 
was  one  about  which  the  lay  public  could  have 
neither  knowledge  nor  understanding.  Everybody 
was  pleased — except  Miss  Bootham,  for  every- 
body, again  excepting  Miss  Bootham,  had  been 
quite  sure  all  along  what  the  result  of  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  enquiries  would  be. 

The  outcome  of  it  all  was  that  Miss  Bootham 
disappeared  both  from  the  Beeches  and  from  dis- 
cussion, and  that  another  aspirant  entered  the 
lists. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  aspirant  who  followed  Miss  Bootham  was, 
unfortunately,  Mrs.  Flores,  and  in  the  disturbance 
which  originated  with  the  kitten  Greorgina  almost 
wished  for  the  return  of  the  anti-vivisectionist. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  89 

But  she  could  not  go  back,  and  her  only  alternative 
was  to  go  forward ;  she  must  try  again. 

Mrs.  Flores's  summary  departure  created  a 
thrill  throughout  the  town;  which  thrill  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  positive  sensation  when  the  news 
spread  that  Mrs.  Bonham's  latest  importation 
from  the  advertisement  columns  of  the  "Times" 
turned  out  to  be  a  suffragist,  who  had  walked  in  a 
procession.  It  was  rumoured  that  she  had  carried 
a  banner,  but  the  rumour  was  never  substantiated : 
what  was  certain  was  that  she  had  walked. 

It  seemed  the  culminating  point  of  poor  Mrs. 
Bonham's  misfortunes,  for  here  was  a  combination 
of  distressing  views  with  unseemly  action.  It  was 
worse  than  Miss  Snell,  even  as  regarded  conduct, 
for  Miss  Snell,  a  smoker,  had  at  least  smoked  only 
in  her  bedroom,  whereas  Miss  Bell  had  walked  in 
the  public  streets,  with  crowds  looking  on.  Miss 
Truefitt,  at  the  Guild  meeting,  remarked  that  you 
couldn't  very  well  walk  in  a  procession  in  your 
bedroom ;  but  Miss  Truefitt  was  speedily  flattened 
out ;  that  was  a  reason  for  not  walking  at  all. 

Miss  Bell  of  course  could  not  be  tolerated;  she 
too,  as  far  as  Stottleham  was  concerned,  slept  with 
her  sister;  and  Mrs.  Cray,  who  proved  to  be  the 
penultimate  candidate,  reigned  in  her  stead.  And 
this  penultimate  was  the  worst  of  all — almost  un- 
speakably so — because  of  the  things  she  spoke  of. 
She  spoke  of  physiological  facts,  and  Stottleham 
had  always  lived  and  moved  and  had  its  being, 
physiologically  speaking,  in  fiction. 

Mrs.  Bonham  lowered  her  voice  in  speaking  of 


90  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Mrs.  Cray's  indelicacies,  and  it  was  only  when 
indignation  overpowered  reserve  that  the  Guild 
Meeting  was  enabled  to  be  shocked  without  cran- 
ing its  neck  and  straining  its  ears.  For  Mrs.  Cray 
had  conveyed  to  her  charge  information  of  a  most 
undesirable  kind,  such  as  that  there  was  sex  in 
plants  and  that  female  plants  brought  forth  their 
young  in  the  form  of  seeds.  But  that  was  not  the 
worst. 

"She  actually  told  the  child,"  said  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham,  "that  sheep  carry  their  lambs!" 

"And  when  I  remonstrated  with  her,"  Georgina 
went  on,  when  the  highest  at  the  tables  had  ex- 
claimed "You  don't  say  so,"  and  the  humblest  "I 
never!" — "when  I  remonstrated  with  her — for  of 
course  Dorrie  repeated  it — all  she  said  was  that  it 
was  true.  *  True, '  I  said ;  *  that  is  the  whole  point. 
If  it  hadn't  been  true,  it  wouldn't  have  mat- 
tered.' " 

1 '  But  is  it  ? "  asked  Miss  Pottlebury.  ' '  How  do 
they — I  never  saw  a  sheep  carrying " 

Georgina,  exasperated,  cut  short  her  bewilder- 
ment. 

"Before  they're  born,  my  dear  Miss  Pottle- 
bury,  ' '  she  said.  She  wanted  to  say  *  *  you  ninny, ' ' 
but  convention  forbade,  and  she  was  obliged  to 
restrict  herself  to  "my  dear  Miss  Pottlebury," 
concentrating  her  annoyance  in  an  emphatic 
"dear." 

Miss  Pottlebury  retired  into  a  pink  silence,  while 
the  other  members  proceeded  to  enquire  what  Mrs. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  91 

Bonham  had  replied  when  Dorrie  had  asked  if 
Mummy  was  like  a  sheep. 

"I  said,"  answered  Mrs.  Bonham,  "that  I  had 
carried  her  in  my  arms.  And  when  she  asked  me 
how  she  got  there,  I  said  she  dropped  from  a  star, 
that  all  new-born  things  did." 

The  readiness,  the  poetical  fancy  and  the  dis- 
cretion displayed  by  Mrs.  Bonham  evoked  sympa- 
thetic enthusiasm;  for  Mrs.  Charles  Marsden  said 
she  had  never  got  beyond  a  cabbage,  and  Mrs. 
Ansell  had  taken  refuge  in  Santa  Glaus,  which  was 
so  awkward,  she  remarked,  when  a  birthday  oc- 
curred at  midsummer.  How  could  Mrs.  Bonham 
think  of  such  a  beautiful  idea?  and  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  I 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Georgina  sublimely.  "It 
seemed  to  come  to  me." 

It  was  in  connection  with  the  beautiful  idea  that 
had  come  to  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  that  the  dreadful- 
ness  of  Mrs.  Cray  was  whispered  throughout  Stot- 
tleham.  But  before  it  reached  the  outskirts  of 
Society,  Mrs.  Cray  had  gone,  and  the  ultimate, 
permanent,  long-looked-f  or  nursery  governess  had 
arrived. 

CHAPTER  V 

Her  name  was  Miss  Kimmidge — Patricia  she 
had  been  christened,  and  in  her  family  was  called 
Pat.  But  Mrs.  Bonham  knew  nothing  of  her 
names  save  the  surname — or  knew  them  unknow- 


92  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

ingly ;  Miss  Kimmidge  was  to  her  always  and  only 
Miss  Kimmidge. 

Dorrie  knew  them  though:  Dorrie  was  im- 
mensely interested  in  them.  She  had  never  before 
heard  the  name  of  Patricia  and  thought  it  beauti- 
ful ;  and  Pat  .  .  .  Pat  she  had  thought  was  a  boy 's 
name;  there  was  a  Pat  in  Stottleham,  the  son  of 
Mrs.  Saunders-Parr,  a  splendid  grown-up  sort  of 
boy  who  was  at  Eugby.  It  was  a  name  associated 
with  big  boyhood,  and  it  was  most  amusing  to  find 
it  cropping  up  in  a  governess. 

And  Hannah  knew  that  Miss  Kimmidge  was  Pa- 
tricia, and  also,  familiarly,  Pat.  Hannah  had 
found  it  all  out  on  the  very  first  evening,  when 
she  went  to  Miss  Kimmidge 's  room  and  said  in  her 
usual  way:  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Miss?" 

Her  usual  way;  for  to  each  one  of  the  nursery 
governesses  had  Hannah  gone,  knocked  at  the  bed- 
room door,  and,  entering,  asked,  with  the  same 
respectful  manner,  the  same  question  of  the  candi- 
date. Some  she  had  liked  and  some  she  had  dis- 
liked, but  to  all  she  had  presented  the  same  oblig- 
ing demeanour;  as  of  all,  save  Mrs.  Flores,  who 
speedily  had  shown  her  hand,  and  that  a  brutal 
one,  she  had  said,  in  reply  to  Georgina's  enquiries : 
"She  seems  a  nice  sort  of  person." 

For  how  was  Hannah  to  know?  Each  candidate 
was  a  possible  permanency,  the  elected  trustee  of 
her  treasure;  her  only  chance  of  communication 
with  the  treasure  was  to  stand  well  with  the  trus- 
tee. Jealous  she  may  have  been  of  the  transfer  of 
guardianship,  but  jealousy,  if  it  were  there,  was 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  93 

submerged  in  the  devotion  which  would  bear  all 
things,  believe  all  things,  hope  all  things,  endure 
all  things,  for  the  privilege  of  proximity,  for  the 
sake  of  a  sight  of  Dorrie.  Well  she  knew  that  her 
position  was  perilous,  and  fully  aware  was  she  that 
her  best  chance  of  maintaining  it  was  to  lie  low,  to 
be  unobtrusive,  to  be  quietly  useful  to  any  power 
that  was  or  might  be.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
she  had  been  changed  from  Nurse,  the  nurse,  to 
Hannah  the  housemaid ;  as  housemaid  she  was  de- 
termined to  endure  for  ever,  or  at  any  rate  till 
Dorrie  was  married  to  a  duke.  For  this  cause  she 
had,  in  a  sense,  welcomed  nursery  governess  after 
nursery  governess,  never  knowing  but  that  each 
fresh  arrival  might  not  be  the  power  elect,  on 
whom  it  was  necessary  from  the  very  first  to  make 
a  favourable  impression.  For  this  cause  she  was 
willing  to  remain  in  the  background,  the  only  al- 
ternative, as  it  seemed,  to  no  ground  at  all.  For 
this  cause  she  had  not  encouraged  Mrs.  Bonham, 
in  the  moment  of  expansive  emotion  created  by 
Mrs.  Flores,  to  give  way  and  confide  in  her.  For 
Hannah,  who  did  not  reason  much,  had,  where  Dor- 
rie was  concerned,  an  intuition  alert  as  a  watch- 
dog, and  it  was  this  intuition  which  had  warned  her 
against  allowing  Georgina  to  break  down.  Geor- 
gina,  for  the  moment,  would  have  overleapt  the 
several  considerations  which  had  caused  her  to 
transform  Nurse  into  Hannah;  but  Hannah's  in- 
tuition told  her  that,  the  emotion  past,  she  would 
never  forgive  herself  for  the  leap,  or  rather  that 
she  would  never  forgive  Hannah :  a  confession  of 


94  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

failure  to  the  dethroned  Nurse  would  have  resulted 
in  the  forced  abdication  of  the  reigning  housemaid. 
So  in  that  emotional  crisis  Hannah  had  held  her 
peace,  and  held  back  the  indignation  which  clam- 
oured to  burst  forth  and  join  forces  with  her  mis- 
tress's indignation,  sensing  dimly  but  surely  that, 
though  Mrs.  Flores  was  the  primary  cause  of  Mrs. 
Bonham's  wrathful  suffering,  she  herself,  as  the 
witness  of  a  momentary  weakness,  might  become 
its  vicarious  victim. 

Thus  it  was  that  Hannah,  when  Miss  Kimmidge 
had  been  barely  ten  minutes  in  her  room,  presented 
herself,  and,  with  the  respect  which  was  all  that  a 
housemaid  could  be  permitted  to  exhibit  in  the  way 
of  ingratiation,  asked:  "Can  I  do  anything  for 
you,  Miss?" 

CHAPTER  VI 

Some  of  the  nursery  governesses  had  been  civil, 
some  disagreeable,  some  had  declined  Hannah's 
offer,  others  had  presumed  upon  it :  none  had  re- 
plied to  it  in  the  way  taken  by  Miss  Kimmidge. 
Miss  Kimmidge  was  on  her  knees  beside  her  trunk ; 
she  looked  up  with  half  a  sigh  and  half  a  smile  and 
said :  *  *  Oh,  if  you  would 

Hannah  looked  down  at  her,  waiting  for  a  more 
explicit  request,  but  as  only  Miss  Kimmidge 's  eyes 
addressed  her,  she  said  enquiringly:  "Yes, 
Miss?" 

"I'm  dying  for -a -cup  of  tea,"  said  Miss  Kim- 
midge. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  95 

"I'll ,"  began  Hannah,  but  Miss  Kimmidge 

interrupted  her. 

"I  know  the  schoolroom  tea's  over,  for  Mrs. 
Bonham  said  so." 

"It  is,  Miss,  but " 

"And  it's  only  half -past  five,"  Miss  Kimmidge 
broke  in  again,  "and  I  don't  suppose  supper  or 
whatever  I  have  will  be  till — for  ever  so  long. ' ' 

She  got  up  from  her  knees  and  sat  down  on  the 
couch.  The  room  was  very  comfortably  furnished, 
partly  because  Mrs.  Bonham  was  careful  as  to  the 
comfort  of  her  dependents,  and  partly  because  she 
had  wished  to  emphasize  the  superiority  of  a  nurs- 
ery governess  to  a  nurse. 

"A  quarter  to  eight  Mrs.  Bonham  dines,  Miss," 
said  Hannah,  "and  it's  sent  up  to  you  when  it 
comes  out." 

"Mrs.  Bonham  asked  me  if  I'd  like  some  tea, 
and  I  was  so  stupid — shy,  you  know,  that  I  said  I 
wouldn't.  But  now !" 

"I'll  get  you  a  cup,  Miss,  at  once." 

* '  You  are  shy,  you  know, ' '  said  Miss  Kimmidge, 
"if  you've  never  been  away  from  home  before." 

"It's  only  natural,"  replied  Hannah,  and  went 
for  the  tea. 

When  she  returned,  the  greater  part  of  Miss 
Kimmidge 's  clothes  were  either  on  the  bed  or  on 
the  floor,  and  the  wardrobe  doors  were  open  and  all 
the  drawers  pulled  out.  Hannah  had  to  tread 
warily  with  the  tray. 

"I'll  put  it  here,  on  this  little  table,"  she  said. 

' '  Cake ! ' '  said  Miss  Kimmidge.     * '  Oh,  how  kind 


96  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

of  you.  And  bread-and-butter  you  can  bite." 
She  had  a  way  of  stressing  words  which  was  en- 
gagingly different  from  Mrs.  Bonham's  even  utter- 
ances. 

" There 's  no  starch  about  her  anyhow,"  was 
Hannah's  inward  comment. 

1  'Don't  go!"  said  Miss  Kimmidge.  "Sit  down 
a  minute !  There  isn  't  anything  on  that  corner  of 
the  couch." 

Hannah  sat  down  and  looked  at  Miss  Kimmidge 
as  she  ate  and  drank.  Something  un-authoritative 
about  the  latest  of  the  nursery  governesses  encour- 
aged Hannah  to  the  point  of  initiating  conversa- 
tion. 

"You've  never  been  away  from  home  before, 
Miss,  I  think  you  said?" 

"No."  Miss  Kimmidge  shook  her  head  as  she 
spoke.  "At  least,  I  mean  not  like  this.  To  the 
seaside,  and  paying  visits  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
but  never  to  a  post." 

"You'll  likely  feel  a  bit  lonely,  Miss." 

"It  almost  makes  you  feel  lonely  to  be  where 
you're  called  Miss  Kimmidge — after  being  used  to 
be  just  Pat." 

"I  thought  Pat "began  Hannah. 

1 '  Short  for  Patricia. ' '  Miss  Kimmidge  had  fin- 
ished the  bread-and-butter  and  now  began  upon  the 
cake.  "Delicious!"  she  said. 

"It's  a  lovely  name,  Miss,"  said  Hannah.  "I 
don't  know  as  I  ever  heard  it  before." 

"Rather  nice.  But  I  don't  think  it  goes  well 
with  Kimmidge.  Do  you?" 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  97 

"I  couldn't  really  say,  Miss,"  Hannah  an- 
swered. 

"That's  why  I  so  much  prefer  Pat.  Pat  Kim- 
midge  sounds  as  if  you  were  a  good  sort.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  By  the  way,  what 's  your  name  ? ' ' 

" Hannah,  Miss."  Hannah  hesitated.  "I  used 
to  be  called  Nurse.  I  was  Miss  Dome's  nurse 
till '  She  stopped  short. 

1  'What  are  you  now?" 

"  Housemaid." 

Miss  Kimmidge  looked  at  her  with  a  look  gravely 
penetrating:  then  she  said: 

1  'You  just  hated  giving  her  up,  didn't  you?" 

Hannah  did  not  answer,  but  turned  her  head 
away,  so  that  she  looked  out  of  the  window  instead 
of  at  Miss  Kimmidge.  Then  she  advanced  to  the 
tray  and  carried  it  towards  the  door.  Miss  Kim- 
midge followed  her. 

1  'Look  here,  Hannah,"  she  said,  "I  shan't  inter- 
fere." 

"No,  Miss."  Hannah  paused.  "Only  you'll 
have  to."  She  paused  again.  "Such  being  Mrs. 
Bonham's  wish."  She  stopped  in  the  doorway. 
"But  I  shall  be  pleased  to  wait  upon  you,  Miss." 

"You  shall  wait  upon  me.  Thank  you,"  said 
Miss  Kimmidge. 

Left  alone,  she  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  the 
couch  that  Hannah  had  vacated,  and  drew  in  her 
lips. 

"It  looks  as  if  it  were  going  to  be  rather  diffi- 
cult," she  was  thinking  .  .  .  "round  holes  and 
square  people." 


98       THE  THUNDERBOLT 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  fitting  of  people  of  one  shape  into  holes  of 
another  shape  was  a  thing  which  Miss  Kimmidge 
somehow  managed  to  accomplish ;  not  because  she 
was  clever,  but,  in  a  great  measure,  because  she 
was  not.  She  had  no  settled  plan  of  action, 
thought  out  no  subtle  scheme,  but  just,  as  she  ex- 
pressed it,  felt  her  way.  The  way,  in  one  sense, 
was  not  perhaps  very  difficult  to  feel,  since  the 
obstacles  which  impeded  it  were  so  obvious,  or, 
again  as  Miss  Kimmidge  expressed  it,  they  stared 
you  in  the  face ;  the  real  problem  was  to  discover 
the  best  method  of  steering  through  them,  as  they 
were  certainly  too  solid  to  be  removed  and  too 
high  to  be  surmounted.  Hannah  had  given  her  a 
hint  of  them,  and  Mrs.  Bonham,  that  same  evening, 
solidified  the  hint. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  having  dined  and  had  her  coffee, 
sent  a  message  to  the  schoolroom.  She  would  be 
glad,  when  Miss  Kimmidge  had  finished  her  sup- 
per, if  she  would  come  down  to  the  drawing-room 
for  half  an  hour.  Miss  Kimmidge  had  already 
finished  her  supper,  and,  arrayed  in  a  new  white 
silk  shirt  and  a  blue  skirt,  which  she  had  put  on 
after  unpacking,  at  once  went  downstairs  in  obedi- 
ence to  Mrs.  Bonham 's  request. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  as  she  entered,  eyed  her  with 
approval.  She  was  nicely  dressed,  but  not  too 
nicely.  Mrs.  Bonham  did  not  make  use  of  the 


99 

words  "neat  but  not  gaudy,"  but  they  would  have 
exactly  expressed  her  verdict  upon  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  appearance;  Miss  Kimmidge  had,  in  fact, 
hit  the  happy  mean  in  the  matter  of  dress  which, 
according  to  Mrs.  Bonham,  was  appropriate  to  a 
nursery  governess  in  the  evening.  Moreover  her 
hair  was  tidy,  and  what  Mrs.  Bonham  disliked 
more  than  anything  else  was  untidy  hair — espe- 
cially in  a  dependent.  Mrs.  Vearing's  hair  was 
not  very  tidy — according  to  Mrs.  Bonham 's  code, 
for  Mrs.  Vearing  went  in  for  the  picturesque  in 
hair-dressing ;  yet,  though  Georgina  did  not  admire 
the  picturesque  as  expressed  in  front  hair  ar- 
ranged a  coup  de  vent,  she  passed  it  in  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing because  Mrs.  Vearing  was  a  vicar's  wife  and  a 
baronet's  daughter.  But  what  was  permissible  in 
a  somebody  would  have  been  unpardonable  in  a  no- 
body, such  as  a  servant,  and  objectionable  in  a 
mongrel,  such  as  a  nursery  governess.  Miss  Kim- 
midge 's  hair,  however,  was  tidy  (indeed  she  wore 
a  fringe  net  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  it  so),  and, 
her  costume  being  nice,  but  not  too  nice,  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  an  approving 
smile. 

"Please  sit  down,  Miss  Kimmidge,"  she  said. 
"I  suppose  you  are  too  young  to  care  for  a  chair 
with  arms."  But  for  the  tidy  hair,  Miss  Kim- 
midge would  not  have  been  favoured  with  even  a 
suggestion  of  arms. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  "what  I 
like  best  is  a  straight  back  and  not  too  high."  She 
was  about  to  add  "My  legs  are  not  very  long" 


100  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

(Miss  Kimmidge  was  not  tall,  being  under  five  feet 
three),  but  something  in  Mrs.  Bonham's  carriage 
suggested  that  the  mention  of  a  nursery-govern- 
ess's legs  would  not  be  well  received.  So  she 
stopped  short  and  sat  down  on  a  chair  which  was 
both  low  and  armless. 

1  'You  find  your  room  comfortable?"  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  enquired  graciously. 

"Very,"  returned  Miss  Kimmidge.  "It's 
really  sweet." 

"The  housemaid,"  Mrs.  Bonham  went  on,  "will 
do  such  waiting  as  you  require.  I  hope  she  has 
shown  herself  obliging. ' ' 

* '  Oh  yes, ' '  said  Miss  Kimmidge.  '  *  I  think  she 's 
a  dear  old  thing." 

Hannah  was  thirty-eight,  but  to  Miss  Kimmidge 
everybody  over  thirty  was  a  dear  old  thing  or  a 
horrid  old  thing  or  a  something-else  old  thing. 
Dr.  Kayke,  when  later  on  she  met  him,  she  desig- 
nated a  funny  old  thing,  but  that  was  an  offence  of 
which  Mrs.  Bonham  never  knew. 

"Hannah,"  Mrs.  Bonham  went  on,  "is  a  good 
servant  if  kept  in  her  place." 

"Yes?"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"She  was,  you  know,  Dome's  nurse." 

"Ah,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"But  after  six,  I  don't  consider  it  advisable  to 
leave  a  child  under  the  sole  charge  of  a  person  of 
that  class." 

"I  see,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"She  was  —  very  naturally  —  devoted  to 
Dome." 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  101 

"Most  naturally,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 
"Dorrie  is  a  duck." 

Mrs.  Bonham  smiled  faintly.  The  smile  was  in 
approval  of  Miss  Kimmidge 's  appreciation  of  her 
pupil ;  the  f aintness  of  it  indicated  that  Miss  Kim- 
midge was  a  trifle  too  familiar  in  her  attitude  to- 
wards that  pupil,  or  perhaps  towards  the  pupil's 
mother.  Anyhow  Miss  Kimmidge  was  impressed 
with  the  feeling  that  she  ought  to  have  said  darling 
instead  of  duck,  and  that  she  should  have  spoken, 
if  not  with  bated  breath,  at  any  rate  with  a  flavour 
of  respect. 

"So  I  didn't  wish — I  couldn't  bring  myself  to 
send  her  away. ' ' 

"How  kind  of  you!"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  this 
time  with  the  flavour  of  respect. 

"I  felt  for  her,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham.  "So  I 
gave  her  the  chance  of  staying  on  as  housemaid." 

"How  delighted  she  must  have  been!" 

' '  She  was  pleased,  I  think.  And  I  must  confess 
she  makes  a  good  housemaid." 

"Very  fortunate,"  murmured  Miss  Kimmidge. 
She  was  not  given  to  murmuring,  but  she  was  find- 
ing, as  the  Needlework  Guild  had  found,  that  there 
was  something  about  Mrs.  Bonham  which  induced 
murmurs. 

"It  is  fortunate,"  Mrs.  Bonham  agreed,  "for 
both  of  us ;  for  I  should  indeed  be  sorry  if  I  were 
obliged  to  send  her  away,  knowing,  as  I  do,  how 
devoted  she  is  to  Dorrie.  At  the  same  time,  hav- 
ing removed  Dorrie  from  her  care,  I  don't  want 
the  child  to  be  too  much,  or  indeed  much  at  all,  in 


102  THE  THUNDEKBOLT 

her  company.  I  took  her  from  her  care,  in  fact,  to 
remove  her  from  her  company. ' ' 

"I  see,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"She  speaks  commonly.  And  of  course  thinks 
commonly.  And  Dorrie,  in  fact,  is  getting  too  old 
to  associate  with  servants." 

"So  that's  where  I  come  in."  Miss  Kimmidge 
had  almost  said  it,  but  she  stopped  herself  in  time 
and  substituted :  *  *  She  '•&  nearly  seven,  isn  't  she  ? ' ' 

"She  is  seven ;  she  was  seven  in  September.  So 
you  see  the  importance. ' ' 

Miss  Kimmidge  bent  her  head. 

"I  look  to  you,"  Mrs.  Bonham  went  on,  "to 
counteract  Hannah's  influence,  to  gradually  wean 
her  away  from  her,  and  to  see  that  Hannah  doesn't 
come  fussing  about  her." 

"Is  Dorrie  very  devoted  to  her?" 

"Devoted,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham  with  a  smile 
touched  with  vexation,  "is  hardly  what  I  should 
call  her."  Miss  Kimmidge  was  conscious  that  she 
should  have  said  "fond  of"  instead  of  "devoted 
to."  "You  know  what  children  are  with  nurses 
they've  had  all  their  lives.  It's  habit  more  than 
anything  else,  and  Dorrie,  like  other  children,  has 
got  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  depending  on  her 
nurse." 

"I  see,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge.  "Have  I  got  to 
begin  it?"  she  asked.  "I  mean,  am  I  the  first 
nursery  governess?  or  have  there  been  others?" 

4 '  There  have  been  others,  but  they  have  not  had 
much  influence  in  the  way  I  require.  Which," 
added  Mrs.  Bonham  with  emphasis,  "is  one  of  the 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  103 

reasons  why  you  must  be  firm.  And  at  the  same 
time  sympathetic.  Dorrie  must  be  kept  happy  and 
amused,  as  well  as  being  instructed." 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge  meekly. 

She  felt  rather  depressed,  and  the  "post"  which 
had  seemed,  on  her  arrival  and  before  it,  cheer- 
fully simple,  grew  formidable.  As  she  went  up- 
stairs, she  classed  Mrs.  Bonham  as  rather  a  trying 
old  thing. 

CHAPTER  VIII 

By  the  next  morning,  however,  Miss  Kimmidge 
had  recovered.  For  one  thing,  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing, and  as  one  of  the  windows  in  her  bedroom 
looked  east,  it  came  streaming  in  upon  her;  and 
for  another  she  had  slept  beautifully  and  felt  fresh 
and  energetic.  Then  her  bath  was  deliciously  hot, 
and  she  was  so  hungry  for  her  breakfast  as  to  lose 
all  nervousness  while  she  ate  it.  She  and  Dorrie 
breakfasted  downstairs  with  Mrs.  Bonham,  and 
breakfast,  when  Miss  Kimmidge  went  to  bed,  had 
loomed  before  her  as  an  ordeal.  When  she  got  up, 
the  ordeal  looked  less  alarming,  and  when  she  ac- 
tually faced  it,  it  proved  to  be  no  ordeal  at  all. 
She  began  to  think  that  Mrs.  Bonham  was  rather  a 
nice  old  thing  after  all. 

Georgina  was,  indeed,  very  gracious.  She  had 
been  pleased  with  Miss  Kimmidge  on  the  previous 
evening,  in  spite  of  the  one  or  two  little  indiscre- 
tions of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  She  felt  that 
Miss  Kimmidge  "meant  well,"  and  also  was  likely 


104  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

to  be  tractable.  Other  candidates  had,  to  be  sure, 
meant  well,  but  they  had  had  drawbacks  of  manner, 
appearance,  accent  or  capacity.  Of  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  capacity  she  could  not  yet  judge,  but  her 
appearance  pleased  her,  her  manner  was  simple 
and  her  accent  was  satisfactory.  Georgina  de- 
cided that  she  was  sufficiently  eligible  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  the  judgment  of  Bayke;  or  rather,  she 
decided,  that  if  Miss  Kimmidge  went  on  well  be- 
tween now — Tuesday — and  Thursday,  she  would 
ask  Eayke  to  come  and  inspect  her  on  Friday. 
Miss  Kimmidge,  unconscious  of  Mrs.  Bonham's 
deliberations  and  decision,  continued  to  enjoy  the 
coffee,  which  was  always  excellent  at  the  Beeches, 
and  had  been  very  poor  in  the  Kimmidge  house- 
hold, and  finished  up  her  breakfast  with  rolls  and 
marmalade. 

"I  don't  want  Dorrie  to  work  more  than  three 
hours  a  day,"  said  Georgina ;  "two  in  the  morning 
and  one  in  the  afternoon." 

"It's  quite  enough  for  her  age,"  agreed  Miss 
Kimmidge. 

"Do  you  like  lessons?"  she  asked  of  Dorrie. 

" No, "  said  Dorrie.     " Do  you ? ' ' 

Miss  Kimmidge  found  the  question  difficult. 
She  really  did  not  like  either  learning  or  teaching, 
but  how  could  a  governess  say  so? 

"Some,"  she  answered.  "Geography,  for  in- 
stance." 

"I  don't  know  it,"  said  Dorrie  doubtfully. 

"You  learn  it  with  maps." 

"Like  what's  in  the  hall?" 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  105 

"She  means  the  county  map,"  explained  Geor- 
gina.  '  *  Yes,  darling,  something  like  that. ' ' 

"Oh,"  was  all  Dorrie  said. 

She  was  not  so  communicative  as  she  had  been 
a  year  ago :  she  had  become,  since  completing  her 
seventh  year,  shyer  and  more  self-conscious,  the 
least  little  bit  more  difficult  to  manage.  Georgina 
noticed  the  change  and  wondered  secretly  if  it  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  cessation  of  Nurse.  Miss 
Kimmidge  naturally  observed  no  change,  since 
she  had  not  known  Dorrie  before,  but  she  knew,  as 
the  eldest  of  a  large  family,  that  children  were  apt 
to  change  after  seven  and  that  the  eighth  and  ninth 
years  were  sometimes  difficult  ones.  That  Dorrie 
would  not  be  hard  to  manage  she  felt  sure;  the 
child  could  not,  she  told  herself,  be  anything  but  a 
duck;  but  she  was  prepared  to  find  in  the  duck 
patches  of  reserve  and  possibly  caprices.  One 
child,  however,  was  a  mere  nothing  after  the  seven 
brothers  and  sisters  she  had  had  to  deal  with,  and 
she  started  off  to  the  schoolroom  with  a  light  heart. 

It  grew  no  heavier  as  the  day  went  on.  Dorrie 
was  charming;  she  became  red  in  the  face  and 
damp  in  the  hand  with  the  excitement  of  drawing 
a  map  of  England,  and  laughed  over  the  multipli- 
cation table.  The  map  was  taken  down  at  lunch- 
time  to  show  Mrs.  Bonham,  and  although  Mrs. 
Bonham  had  no  idea  it  was  meant  for  England, 
she  was  delighted  with  it.  For  the  smoking  gov- 
erness had  wearied  Dorrie  with  sums,  and  the  anti- 
vivisectionist  had  bored  her  with  verbs,  and  each 
and  all  had  given  her  the  idea  that  lessons  were 


106  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

horrid.  Georgina  suspended  judgment  till  tea- 
time,  but  having  entered  the  schoolroom  while  the 
schoolroom  tea  was  going  on,  having  assured  her- 
self that  Dorrie  was  still  happy,  that  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  hair  was  still  tidy  and  that  Hannah  was 
not  in  surreptitious  attendance,  she  waited  no 
longer.  She  wrote  to  Rayke  immediately  her  own 
tea  was  over  and  asked  him  to  come  on  Friday 
afternoon. 

CHAPTER  IX 

On  Thursday  Cook  made  a  currant  and  sultana 
cake,  and  on  Friday  Rayke  came  to  tea.  Geor- 
gina had  felt  a  little  self-conscious  vexation  in 
ordering  the  cake ;  she  had  a  sense  that  Cook  would 
know  for  whom  it  was  ordered.  Cook  did  know, 
but  she  also,  besides  anticipating  Rayke 's  visit, 
guessed  at  its  purport. 

1  'She '11  be  'aving  'im,"  said  Cook,  "to  see  what 
'e  thinks  of  this  'ere  Miss  Gummidge. ' ' 

It  was  thus  that  Miss  Kimmidge''S  name  was 
rendered  in  the  kitchen,  and  Miss  Gummidge  she 
continued  to  be  as  long  as  to  Mrs.  Bonham  she  was 
Miss  Kimmidge,  to  Dorrie — except  on  state  occa- 
sions— Kimmy  or  Pat-a-cake,  to  Hannah  Miss 
Patricia.  For  Hannah  had  been  much  taken  with 
Miss  Kimmidge 's  Christian  name ;  she  thought  it 
lovely;  and  when  she  added  anything  to  the 
"Miss"  by  which  she  usually  addressed  Miss  Kim- 
midge, it  was  Patricia*  that  she  added.  She  hoped 
very  ardently  that  Miss  Patricia  would  "do,"  and 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  107 

this  long  before  she  arrived  at  the  use  of  the 
Christian  name ;  for  without  spoken  words  Hannah 
and  Miss  Kimmidge  understood  one  another,  with- 
out definite  compact  they  speedily  made  a  work- 
ing agreement. 

Dorrie,  for  instance,  was  often  in  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  room  when  Miss  Kimmidge  changed  her 
dress,  looking  at  and  playing  with  various  posses- 
sions of  Miss  Kimmidge 's  which  were  chiefly  in- 
teresting because  they  did  not  belong  to  Dorrie, 
so  that  the  handling  of  them  was  in  the  nature  of 
a  privilege  and  a  treat ;  and  when  Hannah  brought 
in  hot  water,  she  was  apt  to  stay  for  a  few  minutes, 
beginning  by  answering  questions  or  remarks  ad- 
dressed to  her  by  Miss  Kimmidge  and  ending  by 
talking  to  Dorrie.  It  did  not  come  within  the 
scope  of  what  Mrs.  Bonham  considered  necessary 
attendance  that  Miss  Kimmidge  should  be  sup- 
plied with  hot  water,  save  in  the  morning  and — 
perhaps — at  night;  there  was  the  hot-water  tap 
in  the  housemaid's  cupboard  at  the  end  of  the 
passage,  and  Miss  Kimmidge  could  fetch  hot  water 
if  she  required  it.  But  Hannah  had  begun  by 
bringing  hot  water  on  any  and  every  occasion 
when  hot  water  might  be  acceptable,  and  Miss 
Kimmidge  had  begun  by  allowing  an  illicit,  though 
limited  intercourse  between  Hannah  and  Dorrie: 
and  as  they  had  begun  they  went  on. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Miss  Kimmidge  en- 
couraged the  intercourse ;  rather,  she  winked  at  it ; 
and  even  while  she  to  some  extent  restricted  it, 
her  attitude  towards  the  intercourse  and  towards 


108  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Hannah  was,  as  Hannah  was  aware,  sympathetic. 
She  never  said  to  Hannah:  "I  know  how  you 
feel  and  I'll  do  what  I  can  for  you,  but  you  see 
I've  got  to  do  my  job  for  Mrs.  Bonham";  nor  did 
Hannah  reply  in  words:  "All  right,  Miss,  and 
thank  you  kindly";  but  unspoken  such  a  dialogue 
may  be  said  to  have  passed  between  them;  and 
while  Miss  Kimmidge  on  her  side  did  what  she 
could,  Hannah  on  her  side  never  urged  her  to  do 
what  she  couldn't. 

Georgina  enjoying  a  sweetbread  and  claret  in 
the  dining-room,  did  not  know  that  Hannah,  each 
evening,  added  to  Miss  Kimmidge 's  tucking  up  of 
Dorrie,  a  tucking  up  of  her  own ;  and  why  should 
Miss  Kimmidge  mention  it?  Hannah  had  tucked 
up  Dorrie  before  Miss  Kimmidge 's  arrival,  and 
Miss  Kimmidge  simply  let  it  go  on.  If  it  was  to 
be  mentioned  at  all  Dorrie  was  the  one  to  mention 
it,  but  Dorrie,  from  some  instinctive  sense  of 
prudence,  never  spoke  to  her  mother  of  Hannah's 
evening  visits  and  good-night  kiss. 

At  the  time  of  Miss  Kimmidge 's  inspection  by 
Dr.  Eayke,  the  tacit  understanding  between  her 
and  Hannah  was  only  tentative,  not  established: 
it  found  expression  in  Miss  Kimmidge 's  enquiries 
on  the  subject  of  Hannah's  attacks  of  toothache 
and  Hannah's  answers  to  the  effect  that  her  teeth 
were  quite  easy,  or  that  she  had  had  to  have  "an- 
other bottle":  but  that  an  understanding  as  to  an 
ache  far  worse  than  that  of  any  tooth  would  ulti- 
mately be  established  Hannah  was  inclined  to 
hope,  if  only  Miss  Kimmidge  "did"!  Hannah 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  109 

therefore  awaited  Eayke 's  visit  with  trepidation, 
for  she,  as  well  as  Cook,  divined  its  main  purpose. 


CHAPTEE  X 

Dr.  Eayke  arrived  with  his  customary  punctual- 
ity. He  came  at  twenty  minutes  past  four,  and 
tea,  as  everybody  knew  who  knew  Mrs.  Bonham, 
was  at  four-thirty.  So  that  Janet  was  able  to  let 
him  in  and  announce  him  before  setting  out  the 
tea-table,  and  could  concentrate  her  mind  upon  the 
tray  and  its  contents  without  the  disturbing  con- 
sideration that  she  might  not  hear  Dr.  Eayke 's 
ring. 

Always  while  Janet  went  in  and  out  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, Georgina  and  Eayke  enquired  after  each 
other's  health  and  let  off  the  remarks  about  the 
weather  which  were  an  essential  preliminary  to 
conversation.  Then  came  tea,  leisurely  partaken 
of ;  about  halfway  through,  the  introduction  of  the 
matter  specially  to  be  considered,  if  such  matter 
there  were ;  and  after  tea  the  serious  consultation, 
the  asking  for  and  giving  of  advice.  But  if  no 
knotty  point  was  to  be  debated — and  this  was 
frequently  the  case — Mrs.  Bonham  and  Dr.  Eayke 
discussed,  not  the  problems  peculiar  to  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham, but  the  problems  of  their  neighbours.  They 
did  not  gossip ;  that  would  have  been  beneath  the 
dignity  of  both;  and  they  prefaced  report  or 
criticism  with  qualifying  remarks,  such  as:  "I 


110  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

hear,  but  of  course  there  may  be  no  truth  in  it 
.  .  ."  "I  don't  want  to  judge,  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking.  ..."  Nevertheless,  they  did,  in  a 
devious  and  restrained  way,  arrive  at  repeating  to 
each  other  most  of  the  scandal  of  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  not  indeed  with  maliciousness,  but  with  that 
vicarious  enjoyment  of  others'  failings  which  is  all 
that  is  permitted  to  the  respectable.  They  could 
not  themselves  do  the  things  they  deprecated,  but 
in  regard  to  certain  of  them  it  was  rather  exciting 
to  know  that  they  were  done. 

But  on  this  occasion,  the  occasion  awaited  in 
anxiety  by  Hannah,  the  proceedings  were  not  as 
the  proceedings  of  ordinary  days.  Miss  Kim- 
midge  and  Dorrie  were  bidden  to  tea  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

They  were  not  there  when  Rayke  arrived,  and 
the  usual  interchange  of  enquiries  and  remarks 
had  free  play.  But  when  all  the  shining  silver 
was  on  the  table,  and  the  hot  scones  and  the  cur- 
rant buns,  the  thin  bread-and-butter  and  the  sul- 
tana cake,  Mrs.  Bonham  said  to  Janet:  "Will 
you  tell  them  in  the  schoolroom  that  tea  is  ready." 

To  Rayke,  who  had  been  enlightened  as  to  the 
object  of  the  visit  in  the  note  of  invitation,  she 
said,  waiting  of  course  till  Janet  had  gone:  "I 
thought  it  would  be  the  best  way  for  you  to  judge 
what  she  is  like.  If  she  came  down  afterwards, 
or  you  went  up  to  the  schoolroom,  it  wouldn't  be 
the  same  thing." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Rayke.  "You  have  hit,  as 
usual,  upon  the  best  way  of  doing  the  thing." 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  111 

They  smiled  at  each  other.  Bayke  was  think- 
ing that  women — in  their  place — were  very  satis- 
factory: Georgina  was  thinking  what  a  delight- 
ful friend  Bayke  was  and  how  often  she  agreed 
with  him. 

Meanwhile  the  unconscious  Miss  Kimmidge  had 
put  on  her  blue  skirt  and  the  white  silk  blouse, 
which  was  still  perfectly  fresh,  and,  waiting  in  the 
schoolroom,  was  very  glad  of  the  summons  to  the 
drawing-room.  For  Miss  Kimmidge  was  hungry, 
and  her  chief  feeling  as  she  and  Dorrie  went  down- 
stairs was  satisfaction  at  the  prospect  of  having 
her  tea.  She  had  not,  unlike  Hannah  and  the  cook, 
discerned  the  tea-party's  esoteric  significance;  and 
her  sole  doubt  as  she  entered  the  drawing-room 
was  the  doubt  whether  she  would  be  able  to  eat 
as  much  as  she  wanted.  The  schoolroom  bread- 
and-butter  was  substantially  thick ;  here  ( she  cast 
an  eye  on  it  ere  she  was  introduced  to  Bayke) 
it  was  genteelly  thin. 

"Dr.  Bayke — Miss  Kimmidge.  Miss  Kimmidge 
has  come  to  take  charge  of  Dorrie.  Dr.  Bayke, " 
said  Mrs.  Bonham  to  Miss  Kimmidge,  in  impres- 
sive tones,  "is  my  valued  adviser  and  friend." 

Miss  Kimmidge  bowed;  comment  from  a 
nursery  governess  upon  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
Mrs.  Bonham 's  valued  friend  was  impossible. 

She  sat  down  upon  the  chair  indicated  by  Geor- 
gina, while  Dorrie  was  kissed  by  Dr.  Bayke.  Dor- 
rie did  not  much  like  Bayke 's  embraces  because 
he  had  a  beard  which  tickled  her  face,  but  she  sub- 
mitted to  them,  since,  as  she  had  already  told  Miss 


112  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Kimmidge,  "I  have  to.  Mummy  says  it  would 
hurt  his  feelings  if  I  didn't,  and  it  doesn't  exactly 
hurt  my  face,  only  makes  me  want  to  rub  it." 

She  gave  it  now  a  little  surreptitious  rub  on 
the  way  to  her  seat  by  Miss  Kimmidge.  She 
hoped  Uncle  Eayke  didn't  notice,  and  he  didn't. 
If  he  had,  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  him  to 
connect  the  rubbing  with  his  kiss.  But  he  was,  in 
fact,  engaged  in  observing  Miss  Kimmidge. 

She  struck  him  as  being  what  he  described  to 
himself  as  likely.  She  was  evidently  not  nervous 
or  highly  strung:  Eayke  did  not  like  extra-sensi- 
tive people.  No  signs  of  hysteria :  he  was  inclined 
to  think  most  women  hysterical.  Nor  did  she  look 
clever :  he  objected  to  clever  women.  Intelligence 
was  all  very  well,  and  capability,  but  anything 
more  was  tiresome.  Georgina  Bonham  was  his 
idea  of  a  capable,  intelligent  woman. 

Having  formed  a  preliminary  impression  he 
turned  his  attention  to  Georgina  and  the  tea-table. 
Presently  he  would  engage  Miss  Kimmidge  in  con- 
versation. 

Miss  Kimmidge,  meanwhile,  having  noted  his 
courtesy  to  herself  and  his  evident  affection  for 
Dorrie,  classed  him  provisionally  as  a  decent  old 
thing.  Then  she  also  switched  off  her  attention. 
Miss  Kimmidge 's  attention  was  given  to  Dorrie 's 
tea  and  her  own. 

They  began  with  bread-and-butter,  and  it  was, 
as  she  had  already  noted,  distressingly  thin.  A 
slice  was  nowhere;  if  you  took  a  real  bite  it  was 
gone  in  two  twos,  and  if  you  tried  to  make  it  last 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  113 

you  just  had  to  nibble.  Miss  Kimmidge  could  not 
voice  these  drawbacks,  but  Dorrie  did. 

4 'In  this  bread-and-butter,  the  bread  isn't  any 
thicker  than  the  butter,  is  it,  Mummy?"  she  said. 
"I  like  best  when  it  is  thicker.  Don't  you,  Miss 
Kimmidge?  like  we  have  upstairs." 

"The  schoolroom  bread-and-butter  is  best  for 
hungry  people  like  you  and  me,  I  think,"  returned 
Miss  Kimmidge. 

"Certainly  not  hysterical,"  commented  Eayke  to 
himself. 

"Perhaps  the  scones  would  suit  you  better," 
said  Mrs.  Bonham.  "Dr.  Bayke,  would  you  be  so 
kind  as  to  put  the  scones  near  Dorrie  and  Miss 
Kimmidge?" 

Dr.  Rayke  did  so,  "with  pleasure,"  as  he  said. 
Miss  Kimmidge,  with  greater  pleasure,  took  ad- 
vantage of  their  proximity,  and  got  on  much  better 
than,  from  the  bread-and-butter  beginning,  she 
had  dared  to  hope.  She  finished  up  with  a  slice 
of  the  sultana  cake.  Rayke  cut  it  for  her,  and  it 
was  a  large  slice.  She  was  confirmed  in  her 
opinion  that  he  was  a  decent  old  thing. 

And  then,  while  she  ate  the  final  mouthfuls, 
Rayke  began  the  testing  of  her  character  and  at- 
tainments by  what  he  called  engaging  her  in  con- 
versation. 


THE  THUNDERBOLT 

CHAPTER  XI 

"I  suppose,"  said  Rayke,  "you  have  a  bent  for 
teaching — a  sort  of  natural  inclination  that  way." 

Miss  Kimmidge  shook  her  head. 

"I  doubt  it,"  she  replied. 

1 '  Ah  f ' '  said  Rayke.  '  *  But— er,  then— er,  why- 
er?" 

"I  had  to  do  something,"  Miss  Kimmidge  said. 
* '  And  what  else  can  you  do  f — if  you  're  a  woman. ' ' 

"Very  true."  Rayke  nodded  his  head  slowly. 
He  thought  the  reply,  if  not  altogether  satisfac- 
tory, implied  a  becoming  sense  of  limitation. 

"There's  the  post  office,"  suggested  Georgina 
lamely,  "and  the  telegraph  service  and — er,  all 
that,  for  girls  who  have  no  leaning  towards  domes- 
ticity." 

"Oh,  but  for  all  those  things  you  have  to  pass 
an  examination,  and  I  couldn't,  I  know.  You 
can't,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  turning  to  Rayke, 
"pass  examinations  unless  you're  specially  trained 
or  coached,  can  you?" 

'  '  Certainly  not, ' '  agreed  Rayke.  The  simplicity 
of  her  attitude  appealed  to  him.  "No  votes  or 
anything  of  that  sort  about  her,"  he  reflected. 

"But  teachers,  governesses,"  he  went  on, 
"nowadays,  if  they  want  to  rise  in  the  profession, 
are  expected " 

Miss  Kimmidge  made  bold  to  interrupt  him. 
' '  Oh  yes,  I  know,  degrees  and  things.  But  I  never 
could.  That's  why  I  go  in  for  being  a  nursery 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  115 

governess.  You  don't  have  to  be  a  B.A.  or  any- 
thing for  that." 

"A  love  of  children,"  said  Georgina,  "is  the 
essential — or  an  essential." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Miss  Kimmidge,  "but  fortu- 
nately you  don't  have  to  pass  examinations  in 
order  to  like  children."  Again  she  turned  to 
Bayke.  ' '  Do  you ! ' '  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"Bather  not;  it's  part  of  the  nature  of  women 
— old-fashioned  women  at  any  rate.  All  the 
same" — Bayke  addressed  Georgina — "love  of 
children  is  not  sufficient  in  itself  to  make  a 
teacher." 

"I  said  an  essential,"  corrected  Georgina. 
1 1  Of  course  nobody  can  teach  without  having  been 
educated." 

"And  Miss  Kimmidge  of  course  has  been  edu- 
cated," said  Bayke.  He  answered  Georgina,  but 
he  looked  at  Miss  Kimmidge :  the  look  was  an  en- 
quiry. 

"Oh,  I  know  the  usual  things,  of  course,"  she 
answered. 

"I  wonder  what  you  mean  by  the  usual  things? " 

Georgina  beckoned  to  Dorrie. 

"Fetch  the  animal  book  from  the  table,  darling, 
and  we'll  look  at  the  pictures." 

When  Dorrie  came  back  with  the  book,  Georgina, 
opening  it,  looked  across  at  Bayke. 

* '  Have  your  cigarette,  Doctor,  pray.  Miss  Kim- 
midge won't  mind,  I'm  sure." 

"What  could  I  say  if  I  did?"  thought  Miss  Kim- 
midge. What  she  actually  did  say  was :  "  Oh  no. " 


116  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"You're  sure?"  Bayke  paused,  with  cigarette 
poised  in  air. 

"Quite,"  Miss  Kimmidge  smiled. 

Dr.  Bayke  lighted  the  cigarette  and  took  a  puff 
or  two  at  it;  then: 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  "you  were  saying  that— 
er — you " 


. . 


EI  was  saying  I  had  been  taught  the  usual 
things,  and  you  were  saying  you  wondered  what  I 
meant  by  the  usual  things." 

"Yes,  that  was  it,  yes.  Well,  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"Oh,  arithmetic;  no  algebra  or  Euclid  or  any- 
thing of  that  kind,  you  know,  but  just  the  rules 
and  some  fractions.  And  then  geography  and 
composition  and  music — but  I'm  not  musical. 
And  French — but  I  can't  speak  it.  I  know  the 
grammar  though,  the  conjugations  and  all  that." 

"I  see,"  said  Bayke.  He  nodded  his  head 
slowly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "That's  good  enough." 
"History,"  he  went  on,  "is  a  very  wide  subject." 
His  look  questioned:  "How  much  do  you  know 
of  that?" 

"Very,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  "and  rather  con- 
fusing— I  mean  remembering  what  was  going  on 
in  all  the  different  countries  at  the  same  time." 
She  lowered  her  voice  a  trifle.  "I  confess,  too, 
I  never  quite  got  the  hang  of  the  Holy  Boman 
Empire." 

Nor  had  Bayke,  and  he  felt  that  the  Holy  Boman 
Empire  did  not  very  much  matter.  What  did 
matter  was  that  Miss  Kimmidge  should  say  "got 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  117 

the  hang  of."  Rayke  felt  that  it  would  not  do, 
or  rather  that  Mrs.  Bonham  would  feel  it  would 
not  do.  Personally  he  passed  the  expression — 
under  the  gaze  of  Miss  Kimmidge ;  but  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham !  Miss  Kimmidge 's  trusting  gaze,  not  to 

speak  of  the  confidential  lowering  of  her  voice, 
would  have  no  effect  upon  Mrs.  Bonham.  And 
Mrs.  Bonham  disapproved  of  slang.  So  did  the 
doctor — in  a  young  woman.  But  this  young 
woman — so  he  was  convinced — meant  no  harm,  and 
the  slang,  if  it  actually  was  slang,  was  of  a  mild 
kind.  Only  Mrs.  Bonham  .  .  . 

He  glanced  at  her.  Had  she  overheard?  No, 
the  lowered  voice  and  the  animal  book  had  pre- 
vented that.  But  he  must  give  Miss  Kimmidge  a 
hint. 

"And  composition?  I  think  you  said  composi- 
tion. English,  chiefly,  I  suppose?" 

"English,  altogether.  I  couldn't  compose  in 
French.  Could  you?" 

*  *  No,  I  never  learnt  French ;  no,  I  couldn  't.  But 
then  you  see  I'm  not — not " 

"Not  a  nursery  governess,"  said  Miss  Kim- 
midge, and  laughed. 

It  was  hardly  a  laugh,  just  a  smile  with  a  sound 
in  it;  nevertheless  Georgina  heard  it  and  looked 
up  from  the  animal  book ;  first  at  Miss  Kimmidge, 
who  continued  to  smile,  and  then  at  Rayke,  who 
slightly  nodded.  The  nod  told  her  that  he  was 
successfully  testing  Miss  Kimmidge,  and  Geor- 
gina turned  her  attention  again  to  Dorrie  and  a 
giraffe. 


118  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"English  composition  is  most  important,"  said 
Bayke.  "It  helps  people  not  only  to  write  but  to 
speak  their  own  language  properly." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"It  discourages" — Eayke  blew  out  a  puff  of 
smoke — "or  ought  to  discourage,  the  use  of 
slang. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge:  it  was  rather  a 
doubtful  yes. 

"And  slang  is  one  of  the  deformities  of  modern 
speech. ' ' 

"I  see,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"It  doesn't  matter  so  much,"  Bayke  went  on, 
"in  a  man.  But  in  a  woman  it's — er " 

He  hesitated,  seeking  an  adequate  adjective, 
while  Miss  Kimmidge  thought:  "Have  I  said 
.  .  .  What  have  I  said?" 

"Deplorable,"  ended  Bayke,  and  Miss  Kim- 
midge thought:  "I  must  have." 

Georgina  closed  the  book. 

"There,  darling,  that's  the  end.  And  now,  per- 
haps you  and  Miss  Kimmidge  would  like  to  go  up- 
stairs again." 

Bayke  opened  the  door  for  them;  Bayke  shook 
hands  with  Miss  Kimmidge  and  kissed  Dorrie; 
and  on  the  way  upstairs  Dorrie  rubbed  her  face 
— furtively,  and  Miss  Kimmidge  tried  to  remember 
everything  she  had  said  while  in  the  drawing- 
room.  She  had  not  said  very  much  at  all.  What 
could  it  be?  Near  the  top  she  exclaimed:  "I 
have  it." 

"What?"  asked  Dorrie. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  119 

"Something  I  was  trying  to  remember."  To 
herself  she  added:  "It  must  have  been  that — the 
hang  of  it.  What  a  funny  old  thing!" 

CHAPTER  XII 


Meanwhile,  in  the  drawing-room,  Georgina,  as 
Eayke  came  towards  her  from  the  door,  said: 
"Well?" 

"I  think,"  said  Rayke  with  a  slow  air  of  de- 
liberation, "that  she'll  do." 

"She  seems — er — sensible?" 

"I  think  so.  No  fads  or  views  or  hysterical 
fancies." 

' '  And  she  looks  nice — neat,  I  mean.  I  don 't  call 
her  pretty." 

"Not  exactly  so,  no.  But  not  the  reverse. 
Quite  nice-looking  enough." 

"For  her  position,  yes.  And  she  keeps  her  hair 
tidy.  I  confess  I  do  like  well-dressed  hair." 

Rayke  glanced  at  Georgina's  smooth  coils.  He 
gave  the  slightest  of  bows. 

"Obviously,"  he  said. 

Georgina  smiled.  "I  always  think  it's  a  sign  of 
character;  orderliness  and — and  sense,"  she  pro- 
ceeded. 

"I'm  sure  it  is,"  said  Rayke. 

Georgina  paused. 

"You  don't  think "  she  began;  and  then 

Janet  came  in  to  clear  away  the  tea,  and  conver- 
sation became  concerned  with  the  garden. 


120  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

When  all  traces  of  tea  had  gone  and  the  door 
was  shut,  the  garden  was  suddenly  abandoned. 

11  You  were  saying?"  said  Rayke. 

"I  was  saying — what  was  I  saying?"  asked 
Georgina;  but  she  knew  quite  well.  "Oh  yes,  I 
was  going  to  ask  you  whether  you  thought  Miss 
Kimmidge  was  the  least  little  bit — I  don't  know 
how  to  put  it — forward — familiar — a  trifle  too 
much  at  her  ease  1 ' ' 

Rayke  appeared  to  consider  the  matter  judi- 
cially. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said;  and  he  did; 
it  was  the  laugh.  Rayke  had  not  objected  to  the 
laugh,  and  Miss  Kimmidge  had  nice  white  even 
teeth  and  looked  almost — well,  quite  pretty  when 
she  laughed.  But  Georgina,  he  knew,  just  and 
often  liberal  in  her  methods,  had  strict  views  on 
the  deportment  of  dependents.  He  would  serve 
both  her  and  Miss  Kimmidge  best  by  a  judicial 
indifference. 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  repeated  after 
a  pondering  pause,  "but  I  don't  think  it  means 
anything.  I  think  you  told  me  it  was  her  first 
situation " 

"Yes." 

' l  And  she 's  young ' ' 

"Twenty." 

"And  I  think  it's  just — well,  what  you  might  call 
amateurishness.  She  hasn't  quite  got  the  hang" 
(Rayke  realized  suddenly  that  he  was  using  the 
expression  he  had  rebuked  Miss  Kimmidge  for 
using)  "of  the  position." 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  121 

Georgina  did  not  even  wince  at  the  expression 
when  employed  by  Rayke. 

"You  think  that's  all!"  she  said. 

"I  think  so,  I  don't  think  you'll  find  much  to 
complain  of  in  that  direction.  I  fancy,"  Rayke 
added  with  an  air  of  detachment,  "that  she  has 
been  well  brought  up." 

"Her  references  said  so,  and  I'm  glad  your  ob- 
servation bears  them  out.  But  is  there  any  other 
direction  in  which  you  think  she  might  not  be  satis- 
factory?" 

Rayke  paused,  then  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  think  on  the  whole Her  scholastic 

attainments  I  don't  suppose  are  specially  high, 
but  then  you  didn't  want  that." 

'  *  No.  What  I  want  is  a  superior,  refined  person 
to  look  after  Dorrie  and  teach  her  the  beginnings ; 
somebody  who  speaks  properly,  with  a  good  accent 
and  ladylike  expressions." 

"Miss  Kimmidge  seems  to  speak  all  right.  But 
that  you  could  tell  of  course  as  soon  as  she  ar- 
rived." 

"Yes,  at  once.  Oh  yes,  her  way  of  speaking's 
all  right.  And  I  don't  think  she's  slangy." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Rayke.  To  himself  he 
added :  "I  don 't  think  she  will  be  after  my  hint. ' ' 

"You  know  how  I  dislike  slang." 

"Yes." 

"In  a  woman.  A  slang  expression  by  a  man 
now  and  again  is — well,  different." 

"You  always  discriminate,"  said  Rayke. 

He  got  up  and  held  out  his  hand. 


122  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

1  'Well,  you'll  let  me  know  how  she  goes  on." 

"Of  course.  But  I  hope,  after  what  you've  told 
me,  that  she'll  do.  Your  opinion  rather  jumps 
with  mine." 

"It  very  often  does,"  said  Bayke,  smiling. 

"And  thank  you  so  much." 

"I  don't  know  what  for.  The  thanks  should 
be " 

"You  know  what  a  help  your  opinion  is  to  me," 
Greorgina  interrupted. 

She  went  with  Eayke  to  the  front  door  and  let 
him  out.  She  was  full  of  graciousness  because 
she  was  full  of  hope.  It  really  seemed  as  if  Miss 
Kimmidge  would  do!  And  if  she  did!  Oh,  the 
relief ! 

Cook  in  the  kitchen  said :  "I  wonder  what  his 
verdick  is?" 

Hannah  in  the  housemaid's  cupboard,  drawing 
hot  water  for  Miss  Kimmidge,  hoped  fervently 
that  "he'd  took  to  her." 

Arriving  with  the  hot  water  in  Miss  Kimmidge 's 
room,  she  ventured  an  enquiry  as  to  whether  Miss 
Kimmidge  had  got  on  well  with  the  Doctor. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge  carelessly. 
"He  seems  a  kindly  old  gentleman." 

Kindly!  He  hadn't  been  stand-off  then.  It 
looked  well.  Hannah  hoped  for  the  best. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  123 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

Miss  Kimmidge  spoke  carelessly  to  Hannah ;  but 
she  was  aware  that  she  had  'been  weighed  and 
judged.  Going  down  to  tea  in  the  drawing-room, 
she  had  had  no  expectation  of  being  put  into  a 
scale,  but  when  Mrs.  Bonham  asked  for  the  animal 
book,  and  she  was  left  practically  tete-a-tete  with 
Dr.  Eayke,  she  became  conscious  that  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  valued  adviser  and  friend  was  there  for  the 
purpose  of  valuing  and  advising  on  her.  She  was 
not,  as  the  Doctor  had  perceived,  particularly  sen- 
sitive or  highly  strung,  neither  was  she  specially 
endowed  with  intuition;  but  she  had  shrewdness 
and  observation,  as  well  as  high  spirits  and  a 
healthy  vitality;  moreover,  it  did  not  require  un- 
usual capacity  to  realize  that  Bayke  was,  as  she 
termed  it,  pumping  her. 

She  thought,  reflecting  in  her  own  room,  that  the 
scales  had  dipped  on  the  right  side.  To  be  sure 
she  had  made  a  slip,  but  she  had  carried  the  bal- 
ance nevertheless;  and,  having  shrewdness  and 
observation,  she  had  also  the  tact  which  proceeds 
from  the  combination  of  those  qualities,  and  the 
capacity  to  profit  by  Bayke 's  not  too  subtle  hint. 

Mrs.  Bonham  did  not  like  slang,  even  of  the 
mildest  brew.  Well,  she  would  guard  the  door  of 
her  lips  so  that  no  slang  came  forth  either  when 
she  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Bonham  or  to  Dorrie. 
Alone  with  Hannah — sometimes — she  might,  per- 
haps, permit  herself  the  relief  of  expressions  not 


124  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

recognized  in  the  Rayke-Bonham  code;  for 
Hannah,  being  a  dear  old  thing,  and  subject  more- 
over to  lapses  in  grammar  and  aitches,  presumably 
would  not  mind.  Otherwise,  as  far  as  in  her  lay, 
she  would  fall  in  with  Mrs.  Bonham's  wishes  and 
prejudices.  She  ought  to,  seeing  that  she  was 
paid  money  for  that  purpose,  and  also  she  wanted 
to  stay  on.  Dorrie  was  a  dear,  and  if  you  had  to 
go  out  and  take  a  situation,  she  didn't  suppose 
you  would  easily  find  a  pleasanter  one.  The  bed- 
room was  most  comfortable;  more  comfortable  a 
good  deal  than  her  bedroom  at  home ;  not  that  that 
was  important;  still,  it  counted.  Then  Hannah 
was  a  dear  old  thing ;  Mrs.  Bonham,  she  was  begin- 
ning to  think,  was  quite  a  nice  old  thing;  and 
Dorrie — Miss  Kimmidge  quite  understood  why 
Hannah  had  not  wanted  to  give  up  Dorrie.  So 
she  did  her  best  to  do,  and  it  came  about  that  she 
did  do ;  aided  by  the  deficiencies  of  her  precursors, 
by  Rayke's  approval  and  by  Dorrie 's  decidedly 
taking  to  her. 

The  news  of  Miss  Kimmidge 's  arrival  and  prob- 
able success  was  soon  made  known  to  the  Needle- 
work Guild,  and  thence  was  spread  throughout  the 
town.  Dear  Mrs.  Bonham  had  at  last  got  a  nur- 
sery governess  who  seemed  as  if  she  would  do. 
Dear  Mrs.  Bonham's  nursery  governess  was  do- 
ing. Dear  Mrs.  Bonham's  nursery  governess  did. 
How  wise  of  Mrs.  Bonham  to  make  the  change! 
She  was  no  longer  "poor,"  nor  was  her  wisdom 
questioned.  Miss  Kimmidge  had  saved  her  repu- 
tation. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  125 

Miss  Truefitt,  when  it  was  definitely  established 
that  Mrs.  Bonham  was  suited,  remarked  that  she 
had  been  a  precious  long  time  about  it;  but  that 
was  Miss  Truefitt  all  over;  and  who  was  she  to 
criticize?  The  critics  who  had  at  one  time  been 
inclined  to  side  with  her,  now  joined  in  the  popu- 
lar approval  of  Mrs.  Bonham 's  policy.  For  Mrs. 
Bonham  had  sailed  successfully  into  harbour,  and 
Miss  Truefitt 's  suggestions  of  submarine  disasters 
and  eventual  torpedoing  had  come  to  nought. 
Mrs.  Bonham 's  sagacity  was  vindicated  and  Miss 
Truefitt 's  was  squashed  by  the  failure  of  her  own 
prognostications. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Kimmidge,  her  appearance,  her 
attainments,  her  past,  her  present  and  her  future, 
were  freely  discussed. 

She  had  never  been  ''out"  before. 

Yes,  she  had:  she  had  been  two  years  with  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  Bonham 's.  That  was  how  Mrs. 
Bonham  heard  of  her.  Mrs.  Ansell  knew  it  for 
a  fact. 

But  Miss  Pitt  knew,  also  as  a  fact,  that  she  had 
come  straight  from  home. 

Miss  Pottlebury  had  been  informed  that  Miss 
Kimmidge  had  taught  in  a  High  School  for 
eighteen  months  and  that  her  forte  was  mathemat- 
ics: whereas  Mrs.  Markham  had  it,  on  the  best 
authority,  that  her  one  deficiency  was  in  the  direc- 
tion of  figures. 

Miss  Pottlebury  gave  way.  She  had  never  quite 
recovered  from  the  sheep  and  was  disposed  to 
allow  that  she  might  have  been  misinformed. 


126  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Mrs.  Ansell  remarked  that  she  did  not  pretend 
to  know  anything  about  Miss  Kimmidge  as  a 
teacher;  she  went  by  what  she  saw;  and  she 
thought  Miss  Kimmidge  had  nice  blue  eyes. 

Blue?  Miss  Truefitt  was  amazed  that  anybody 
should  say  that  Miss  Kimmidge 's  eyes  were  blue. 
They  were  brown. 

Miss  Truefitt,  on  this  point,  received  popular 
support;  it  was  carried  that  Miss  Kimmidge 's 
eyes  were  brown;  but  not,  as  Miss  Truefitt  also 
averred,  that  she  had  a  snub  nose.  The  nose  was, 
some  declared,  aquiline,  others  said  straight. 

''Grecian,"  suggested  Miss  Truefitt  with  a  sniff. 

Then  Miss  Kimmidge  was  tall,  she  was  short, 
she  was  fat,  she  was  thin,  she  was  sallow  of  skin, 
she  had  a  radiant  complexion. 

"But  I  saw  her  in  church." 

* '  I,  also,  can  see  when  I  am  in  church. ' ' 

"I  saw  her  coming  out  and  was  quite  close  to 
her." 

"But  7  was  just  behind  her  coming  in,  and  the 
top  of  her  hat  came  no  higher  than  my  nose." 

Miss  Kimmidge  was  to  stay  a  year. 

No,  two. 

No,  five. 

Miss  Kimmidge  was  to  prepare  her  pupil  for  a 
High  School. 

No,  she  wasn't;  she  was  to  take  her  abroad  to 
learn  French  and  German. 

Not  at  all;  Dorrie  was  never  to  leave  home. 
That  Mrs.  Ansell  knew  for  a  fact. 

"Well,  7  heard "  began  Miss  Pitt, 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  127 

And  then  came  a  chorus  of  contradictory  facts, 
all  of  which  could  be  vouched  for. 

Interest  reached  its  apex  when  Mrs.  Bonham 
announced  at  one  Guild  Meeting  that  Miss  Kim- 
midge  would  attend  the  next. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Miss  Kimmidge,  putting  on  her  hat  preparatory 
to  attending  the  Guild  Meeting,  tilted  it  ever  so 
little  on  one  side.  It  was  a  concession  to  a  sense 
of  revolt  against  impending  propriety,  for  Miss 
Kimmidge  had  an  idea  that  in  the  matter  of 
propriety  the  Needlework  Guild  would  be  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  an  apotheosis.  She  had  not 
wanted  to  go  to  the  Needlework  Guild,  and  she 
might  have  got  out  of  it ;  her  going  was  really  an 
act  of  self-sacrifice,  and  the  swing  of  the  pendu- 
lum incited  in  her  a  desire  for  self-assertion. 
Ever  since  her  arrival  in  Stottleham  she  had  worn 
her  hat  perfectly  straight ;  a  straightly  placed  hat 
seemed  to  be  demanded  by  the  spirit  of  the  place. 
To-day  she  tilted  it;  not  sufficiently  to  appear 
rakish,  but  to  the  point  of  being  slightly  provoca- 
tive. 

Miss  Kimmidge,  standing,  as  it  were,  on  the 
brink  of  the  Needlework  Guild,  had  had  in  her 
own  hands  the  alternatives  of  drawing  back  or  of 
plunging  in.  Because  of  Hannah  she  had  chosen 
to  plunge  in.  For  on  that  afternoon  Dorrie  had 
been  asked  to  tea  at  the  Saunders-Parrs',  and 


128  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Dorrie  of  course  had  to  be  taken  to  Layfield  Lodge 
and  brought  back  again.  As  to  the  fetching  there 
was  no  difficulty ;  Miss  Kimmidge  could  call  for  her 
after  the  Guild  Meeting;  it  was  as  to  the  going 
that  the  rub  arose.  For  if  Miss  Kimmidge  went 
to  the  Guild  Meeting,  it  would  devolve  upon 
Hannah  to  take  Dorrie  to  Layfield  Lodge,  and 
would  it  be  too  much  encouragement  .  .  .1 
Georgina  was  divided  between  her  unwillingness 
to  encourage  the  relations  between  Hannah  and 
Dorrie  and  her  need  of  Miss  Kammidge  's  services, 
for  the  Guild  season  was  nearly  at  an  end  and  work 
was  rather  in  arrears  owing  to  the  marriage  of 
one  member  and  the  illness  of  another.  More- 
over, there  was  in  the  back  of  her  mind  a  half- 
avowed  desire  to  present  to  a  section  of  Stottle- 
ham  her  presentable  nursery  governess  with  the 
tidy  hair.  In  this  dilemma  she  had  consulted  Miss 
Kimmidge. 

"We  badly  need  help — at  the  Knickerbockers; 
but  if  you  come  .  .  .  There's  Dorrie,  you  see. 
She 's  not  asked  till  a  quarter  to  four. ' ' 

It  was  then  that  Hannah,  with  a  hot-water  can 
and  hungry  eyes,  arose  on  the  surface  of  Miss 
Kimmidge 's  inner  vision. 

"Couldn't  Hannah  .  .  .?"  she  said  tentatively. 

"  I  'd  thought  of  that.  But  you  know  what  I  told 
you.  I  don't  want  to  encourage  her,  or  indeed 
Dorrie,  to  be  together." 

"No,  of  course  not."  Now  was  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  chance  to  get  out  of  the  Guild  Meeting: 
she  had  but  to  put  a  spoke  in  Hannah's  wheel 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  129 

and  smash  it  went  and  the  Guild  Meeting  with 
it.  On  the  other  hand  Hannah  .  .  .  really  a  dear 
old  thing  and  rather  a  pitiful  old  thing,  turned 
for  half  an  hour  into  a  delighted  old  thing ! 

"But  still,"  she  added,  "once  in  a  way  ..." 
and  shook  her  head  wisely,  as  though  to  say, 
"That  could  do  no  harm." 

And  Mrs.  Bonham  succumbed  to  the  suggestion ; 
it  jumped  with  her  own  wishes,  and  she  decided 
in  favour  of  the  Guild  Meeting,  the  extra  hands 
and  the  tidy  head. 

So  now  Miss  Kimmidge,  having  put  on  her  hat 
and  buttoned  her  gloves,  awaited  Mrs.  Bonham  in 
the  hall.  And  presently  Mrs.  Bonham  rustled 
down.  She  usually  rustled  as  she  moved,  but  in 
the  rustlings  a  discriminating  ear  could  detect 
differences  in  degree  and  kind.  There  was  the 
domestic  rustle,  prominent  especially  in  summer 
and  more  especially  in  the  morning,  suggestive  of 
starch.  There  was  the  smart  silken  rustle  of 
society  functions.  And  there  was  the  subdued 
rustle  of  church  meetings  and  the  Needlework 
Guild.  To-day  the  rustle  came  softly  down  the 
stairs,  and  Mrs.  Bonham,  in  clothes  of  tempered 
elegance,  arrived  in  the  hall.  She  cast  at  Miss 
Kimmidge  a  critical  glance. 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Kimmidge,"  she  said. 
"Your  hat's  a  little  crooked." 

"Oh!"  said  Miss  Kimmidge.  She  added: 
"  I  'm  sorry. ' ' 

And  she  had  been  so  glad! 

She  went  to  the  glass  over  the  umbrella  stand, 


130  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

and  arranged  her  hat  a  la  Stottleham,  then  turned 
to  Mrs.  Bonham. 

"Is  that  all  right?" 

"Perfectly.  I  have  never  seen  your  hat  the 
least  bit  crooked  before,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham  as 
they  set  out. 

"No?"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

Side  by  side  they  walked  down  the  High  Street, 
each  with  a  perfectly  straight  hat.  In  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  hat  was  a  waving  plume;  in  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  a  cock's  feather. 

CHAPTER  XV 

The  members  of  the  Needlework  Guild  were  on 
the  tiptoe  of  expectation.  They  were  almost  on 
tiptoe  of  their  several  feet,  as  Mrs.  Bonham,  fol- 
lowed by  Miss  Kimmidge,  entered  the  room. 
Every  neck  was  craned,  every  eye  f ocussed.  How 
tall  was  she  really?  Supposing  her  eyes  should  be 
blue  after  all?  And  what  about  her  complexion? 

She  was  not  tall,  barely  middle  height.  Miss 
Pitt  had  been  right  then;  she  would  about  come 
up  to  the  bridge  of  Miss  Pitt's  nose.  When  she 
came  near,  you  saw  that  there  was  no  more  blue 
in  her  eyes  than  there  was  in  an  acorn,  that  they 
were  brown,  of  course.  As  to  her  complexion, 
everybody  was  disappointed.  It  was  not  sallow 
nor  was  it  radiant;  it  was  just  an  ordinary, 
healthy,  quite  nice  complexion,  such  as  you  might 
see  any  day  in  Stottleham. 

On  the  whole  Miss  Kimmidge  was  rather  dis- 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  131 

appointing;  she  was  a  trifle  'too  ordinary;  there 
was  nothing  to  rave  about,  for  or  against.  Never- 
theless the  Petticoats,  the  Nightgowns  and  the 
Chemises  were  somewhat  envious  of  the  Knicker- 
bockers, for  to  the  Knickerbocker  table  it  was  that 
Miss  Kimmidge  was  destined,  and  you  cannot 
really  tell  what  a  person  is  like  unless  you  enter 
into  conversation  with  that  person. 

The  Knickerbockers,  however,  did  not  gather 
very  much  from  Miss  Kimmidge 's  conversation. 
Miss  Kimmidge  was  demure;  she  was  sparing  of 
remark  and  concentrated  her  attention  on  her 
work.  In  truth  she  found  it  dull,  quite  as  dull  as 
she  had  expected ;  the  straightening  of  her  hat  had 
damped  down  the  little  feeling  of  insubordination 
and  she  felt  herself  altogether  subordinate;  nay, 
worse,  a  subordinate,  wholly  and  completely  a 
nursery  governess.  It  was  not  exhilarating. 

Then,  bye  and  bye,  as  she  gave  no  indication  of 
horrifying  vices  or  extraordinary  views,  the 
Knickerbockers  began  to  look  upon  her  as  what 
she  herself  felt  herself  to  be — Mrs.  Bonham's 
nursery  governess,  who  suited  Mrs.  Bonham. 
Such  an  aspect  diminished  the  interest  in  her. 
The  interest,  indeed,  had  been  immensely  height- 
ened 'by  her  predecessors.  Had  the  first  nursery 
governess  "done,"  she  would  soon  have  been  done 
with  as  far  as  the  curiosity  of  the  various  layers 
of  Stottleham  society  was  concerned;  it  was  the 
number,  the  variety,  the  vices  and  the  views  of  the 
procession  which  had  passed  through  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  schoolroom  that  had  raised  a  cumulative  in- 


132  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

terest  in  nursery  governesses  as  a  species.  If 
Miss  Kimmidge  proved  neither  violent  nor  vicious, 
peculiar  nor  perverse,  there  would  be  nothing  to 
differentiate  her  from  the  known  inhabitants  of 
the  known  world,  and  her  position  would  have  to 
be  determined,  not  by  her  capacity  for  evoking 
horror,  but  by  her  social  status.  And  they  all, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  knew  what  that 
was.  Mrs.  Bonham  was  a  social  pillar,  and  stood 
majestic  on  a  base  as  broad  as  that  of  society  it- 
self. But  Mrs.  Bonham 's  nursery  governess  had 
next  to  no  base ;  she  was,  as  it  were,  but  a  ballet 
dancer  on  the  social  stage,  with  no  wider  or  more 
solid  social  standing  than  was  to  be  gained  by 
pirouetting  on  the  toes  of  a  single  foot. 

Nevertheless,  they  observed  Miss  Kimmidge 
with  lurking  expectation ;  for  who  could  tell  what 
dramatic  surprise  might  not  leap  forth  from  her 
lips,  or  issue  in  unwonted  action?  They  ques- 
tioned her,  one  by  one,  and  all  listened  to  her  an- 
swers, longing — with  a  longing  to  themselves  un- 
confessed — for  anarchic  utterances  which  never 
came.  Miss  Kimmidge  appeared  to  go  regularly 
to  church ;  she  smoked  no  cigarettes,  walked  in  no 
processions,  stood  up  for  no  rights,  animal  or 
feminine,  and  seemed  convinced  that  Britannia 
should  rule  the  waves. 

The  nearest  thing  to  a  •thrill  came  when  Miss 
Pottlebury  questioned  her  upon  the  subject  of 
working-parties.  Had  she  been  accustomed  to  at- 
tend them? 

No,  she  had  never  been  to  one  before. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  133 

This  looked  more  promising. 

"How  was  that!"  Mrs.  Markham  made  haste 
to  enquire. 

"I  had  no  time  for  any  sewing  when  I  lived  at 
home,  except  the  mending,"  answered  Miss  Kim- 
midge.  "You  see  there  were  all  the  boys'  socks 
and  pants  and  breeches." 

Was  it  quite  seemly  to  mention  such  articles? 
Pants?  and  especially  breeches?  The  Knicker- 
bockers pricked  up  their  ears :  so  did  the  workers 
at  the  other  tables,  for  Miss  Kimmidge,  when  she 
got  as  far  as  breeches,  was  on  the  verge  of  a 
sneeze,  and  the  word  came  out  with  a  gasp  on  a 
rather  high  note. 

Breeches!  What  could  the  nursery  governess 
be  talking  about?  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was 
fast.  The  Chemises,  the  Nightgowns  and  the 
Petticoats  harboured  a  secret  excitement:  good- 
ness only  knew  what  Rabelaisian  tendencies  were 
hidden  beneath  a  respectable  exterior :  there  was  a 
possibility  that  Miss  Kimmidge  might  shock  them 
after  all. 

At  Miss  Kimmidge 's  own  table,  however,  such 
an  illusion  did  not  persist.  It  was  obvious  that 
she  spoke  in  innocence,  not  in  indecency.  If  the 
breeches  even  had  been  men's  breeches.  But  they 
were  only  boys',  and  those  boys  her  brothers.  It 
might  be  that  she  was  not  fastidious,  but  there  was 
.nothing  wrong.  It  only  amounted  to  this — that 
dear  Mrs.  Bonham's  nursery  governess  was  not, 
in  refinement,  altogether  on  the  level  of  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham.  But,  then,  what  could  you  expect? 


134  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

CHAPTER  XVI 

If  Miss  Kimmidge  had  known  what  was  expected 
of  her,  she  might  have  been  tempted  to  rise  to  the 
occasion.  But  she  did  not  know,  and  it  did  not 
occur  to  her  imagination  that  the  sober  atmosphere 
of  the  Needlework  Guild  would  have  been  agree- 
ably stirred  by  a  breath  of  scandal.  She  had  been 
brought  to  do  her  bit  and  she  did  it.  When  it  was 
done,  she  awaited  further  orders  from  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham. 

Now  the  Guild  Meeting  was  over  at  four-thirty, 
and  Dorrie  was  to  be  fetched  at  five-thirty;  there 
was  therefore  an  hour  before  Miss  Kimmidge 
could  fetch  her.  She  had  supposed  that  she  would 
return  to  the  Beeches  and  have  tea  before  setting 
out  for  Layfield  Lodge;  but  here  came  in  a  little 
plot  arranged  by  Mrs.  Vearing  with  her  dear 
Mrs.  Bonham. 

Dr.  Rayke  having  passed  judgment  on  Miss 
Kimmidge,  it  was  arranged  that  Mrs.  Vearing 
should  now  take  stock  of  her;  and  what  occasion 
could  be  more  opportune  than  the  one  now  pre- 
sented? So  when  the  work  was  over  and  Miss 
Kimmidge  came  to  await  further  directions,  Mrs. 
Bonham  introduced  her  to  Mrs.  Vearing  and  Mrs. 
Vearing  said: 

( 'I  am  hoping  you  will  come  with  me  to  the 
Vicarage.  It  is  nearer  the  Lodge  than  the 
Beeches,  and  I  should  be  so  pleased  to  give  you  a 
cup  of  tea  and  have  a  chat  till  it  is  time  for  you  to 
go  for  darling  Dorrie. ' ' 


THE  .SUBSTITUTES  135 

Miss  Kimmidge  looked  at  Mrs.  Bonham,  and 
Mrs.  Bonham  smiled  and  murmured:  "Most 
kind,  I'm  sure":  upon  which  Miss  Kimmidge  re- 
plied that  she  should  be  delighted. 

So  when  the  work  was  all  put  away,  she  accom- 
panied Mrs.  Vearing.  She  had  taken  rather  a 
fancy  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  and  Mrs.  Vearing,  on  her 
side,  was  favourably  impressed  by  Miss  Kim- 
midge. 

"A  little  too  stiff  about  the  hair  and  hat,"  she 
was  thinking,  "to  be  quite  artistic,  but  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham,  I  know,  puts  neatness  before  aestheti- 
cism." 

Did  Miss  Kimmidge  divine  her  thoughts!  or 
was  it  the  effect  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's  front  hair  ar- 
ranged a  coup  de  vent?  Anyhow,  this  is  what  hap- 
pened. Arrived  in  the  Vicarage  drawing-room, 
Mrs.  Vearing  threw  off  her  hat  and  veil,  display- 
ing the  careless  waves  which  surmounted  her  fore- 
head. 

"Would  you  like  to  take  off Oh,  you 

haven't  a  veil,  I  see,"  she  said  to  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  "but  I  will  just 
see  if  my  hat's  all  right,  if  you'll  allow  me." 

"Of  course."  Mrs.  Vearing  waved  her  hand 
towards  the  mantelpiece.  "There's  a  mir- 
ror. ..." 

Miss  Kimmidge  went  over  to  the  mirror,  and, 
raising  her  hands  to  her  head,  tilted  the  straight- 
setting  hat  a  little  to  one  side — a  little  more  to 
one  side  than  she  had  originally  placed  it  at  the 
Beeches. 


136  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Mrs.  Vearing  noticed  the  change ;  her  glance  as 
Miss  Kimmidge  returned  to  her  chair  was  a  note  of 
interrogation;  and  Miss  Kimmidge  was  conscious 
of  the  glance. 

"Some  people's  hats,"  she  said,  "are  meant  to 
be  worn  straight  and  go  -crooked,  and  some  are 
meant  to  be  a  little  on  one  side  and  go  straight." 

There  was  a  touch  of  apology  in  her  voice,  a 
touch  of  deprecation  in  her  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Bonham,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing, 
"likes  rather  a — a  formal  way  of  wearing  hats." 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  still  with  the 
deprecating  eyes,  "I  should  always  wear  my  hat 
as  Mrs.  Bonham  wished — when  with  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham;  or  indeed  with  Dorrie." 

Mrs.  Vearing  smiled ;  the  reply  pleased  her.  It 
betokened,  she  thought,  a  becoming  deference  to 
the  opinions  of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  with,  at  the 
same  time,  a  leaning  towards  her  own  artistic  pro- 
clivities. The  smile  encouraged  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"When  I'm  on  my  own  ..."  she  proceeded, 
and  stopped,  partly  because  it  was  difficult  to  put 
into  words  what  she  had  in  her  mind,  and  partly 
because  she  was  fearful  that  she  had,  in  her  own 
parlance,  "said  a  slang." 

But  Mrs.  Vearing  was  so  little  versed  in  slang 
that  she  did  not  even  recognize  it  when  she  met 
it,  and  she  had  a  secret  sympathy  with  the  angle 
of  Miss  Kimmidge 's  hat. 

"It  looks  very  nice  as  it  is,  my  dear,"  she  said; 
and  Miss  Kimmidge  instantly  denned  her  as  a 
sweet  old  thing. 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  137 

"I  think,"  Mrs.  Vearing  went  on,  "that  you 
have  never  been  away  from  home  before?" 

"Never,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge.  She  added, 
Mrs.  Vearing  being  a  sweet,  sympathetic  old  thing : 
"It  was  rather  a  wrench." 

"I  am  sure  it  must  have  been."  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing's  tone  was  condoling,  but  she  went  on  with 
cheerful  utterance :  *  *  But  you  could  not  be  more 
delightfully  placed,  could  not  have  a  happier  home 
than  with  dear  Mrs.  Bonham." 

"I  suppose  not.     And  Dorrie  is  a  duck." 

It  seemed  safe  to  say  duck  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  and 
it  proved  to  be  saf  a 

Mrs.  Vearing  responded:    "A  duck  of  ducks." 

"You  know  Hannah,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Kim- 
midge. 

"Oh  yes,  poor  Hannah!"  Mrs.  Vearing's  tone 
was  that  of  the  gravedigger  apostrophizing  poor 
Yorick;  then  again  she  was  uplifted  on  the  wings 
of  cheerfulness.  "But  Mrs.  Bonham  has  been 
charmingly  kind  to  her.  Instead  of  sending  her 
away,  as  she  might  have  done ' 

Mrs.  Vearing  paused,  and  Miss  Kimmidge  said : 
"Quite  so." 

"As  she  might  have  done,  as  most  people  would 
have  done,  she  offered  to  keep  her  on  as  house- 
maid." 

"Very  kind,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"Generous.  I  was  very  glad  about  it,  for  poor 
Hannah  is  devoted  to  Dorrie ;  it  would  have  broken 
her  heart  to  leave  her.  And  between  ourselves  I 
think  Dorrie  .  ." 


138  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Mrs.  Vearing  suddenly  pulled  up :  she  felt  that 
she  was  treading  on  delicate,  not  to  say  dangerous, 
possibly  even  disloyal  ground. 

"How  do  you  like  my  chintz?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  it's  sweet.  I  wanted  to  say  so  as  soon 
as  I  came  in,  but  didn't  like  to." 

Mrs.  Vearing  smiled,  and  this  time  it  was  not  a 
limited  smile,  as  when  she  had  smiled  over  the 
hat,  but  full  and  broad — a  cafe  complet  as  com- 
pared with  a  cafe  simple.  For  Miss  Kimmidge 
had  assailed  her  sympathy  at  a  vulnerable  point. 
Stottleham,  if  it  did  not  drslike,  did  not  appreciate 
Mrs.  Vearing 's  chintzes,  and  Mrs.  Vearing,  in  the 
matter  of  chintzes,  fancied  herself.  Even  dear 
Mrs.  Bonham's  opinion  in  respect  of  chair-covers 
she  did  not  regard  as  equal  to  her  own. 

Georgina  certainly  had  a  soberer  taste,  and  she 
was  more  orderly  than  enterprising;  her  chair- 
covers  were  better  made  and  of  a  more  ordinary 
pattern  than  Mrs.  Vearing 's.  She  eyed  Mrs. 
Vearing 's  exuberances,  not  exactly  askance,  but 
with  an  eye  unlighted  by  admiration.  But  Miss 
Kimmidge — Mrs.  Vearing  had  hopes  of  Miss  Kim- 
midge.  She  would  probably  appreciate  the  effect 
of  white  muslin  curtains  against  the  glowing 
colours  of  the  chintz,  and  the  additional  daintiness 
of  the  frills :  she  would  probably,  also,  really  like 
sitting  in  the  arbour  and  enjoy  having  tea  in  it. 
Mrs.  Vearing  made  up  her  mind  that  later  on, 
when  the  weather  was  a  little  warmer,  she  would 
invite  Miss  Kimmidge  to  spend  the  afternoon  and 
they  would  have  tea  in  the  garden. 


THE  -SUBSTITUTES  139 


The  Vicar,  coming  in  at  tea-time,  received  the 
impression  that  Miss  Kimmidge  was  rather  a 
jaunty  young  person;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact 
she  was,  that  afternoon,  with  the  Vicar,  just  a 
thought  jaunty.  The  hat  was  really  at  the  bottom 
of  it,  but  the  Vicar  did  not  know  this ;  neither  did 
Miss  Kimmidge.  Mr.  Vearing  was  incapable  of 
noting  the  angle  at  which  a  hat  was  poised,  and 
had  it  been  pointed  out  to  him,  he  would  not 
have  realized  the  angle's  significance;  and  Miss 
Kimmidge,  on  her  side,  was  unaware  how  far  the 
altering  of  the  angle  had  altered  her  mood.  But 
it  had,  in  fact,  removed  the  sense  of  repression, 
and  Mrs.  Vearing 's  words  and  smiles  had  assisted 
in  raising  the  little  reactionary  wave  of  elation  on 
which  she  was  now  lifted.  She  felt  more  like  Pat 
and  less  like  Miss  Kimmidge  than  she  had  felt 
since  her  arrival  at  Stottleham. 

Therefore  she  smiled  at  the  Vicar;  then,  when 
the  Vicar  said  that  he  wanted  somehow  to  call 
her  Miss  Cribbage  instead  of  Miss  Kimmidge,  she 
laughed;  and,  as  Dr.  Rayke  had  observed,  she 
looked  her  best  when  she  laughed.  The  mere 
laugh,  apart  from  what  she  looked  like,  appealed 
to  the  Vicar,  for  most  people  did  not  like  jokes 
about  their  names.  Mr.  Vearing  had  an  awful 
memory  of  a  pun  in  which  Bone-  'em  occurred,  and 
upon  which  he  had  ventured  in  the  expectation  of 
amusing  Alicia's  dearest  friend.  The  amusement 


140  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

had  not  come  off,  and  afterwards  Alicia  .  .  . 
Since  that  day  he  had  refrained  from  witticisms 
of  the  kind,  but  there  was  something  about  Miss 
Kimmidge  that  aroused  what  he  himself  called 
— and  surely  one  may  joke  about  one's  own  name 
— the  old  Adam. 

So  that  when  Miss  Kimmidge  laughed  because 
her  name  reminded  Mr.  Vearing  of  cribbage,  Mr. 
Vearing  was  agreeably  impressed  by  her  capacity 
for  seeing  a  joke.  He  did  not,  of  course,  know 
that  it  was  the  very  poorness  of  the  joke  which 
was  the  chief  cause  of  her  laughter,  did  not  know 
that  she  thought  it  so  funny  of  him  to  think  it 
funny. 

So  the  tea-party  was  a  great  success;  so^great 
that  Mrs.  Vearing  was  impelled  to  sit  down  and 
write  a  testimonial  to  Miss  Kimmidge 's  satisfac- 
toriness  for  Miss  Kimmidge  to  take  'back  to  Mrs. 
Bonham. 

"You  will  excuse  me,"  she  said,  "if  I  write  a 
note.  There  is  a  little  matter  about  which  I  have 
to  send  information  to  Mrs.  Bonham,  and  if  you 
will  take  it  by  hand,  it  will  save  time  and  postage. ' ' 

This  was  Mrs.  Vearing 's  artfulness,  for  Miss 
Kimmidge  was  not  to  dream  that  the  note  was 
about  herself,  and  Mrs.  Vearing  as  she  went  to  her 
bureau  plumed  herself  on  her  diplomacy;  for  she 
had  not  even  prevaricated,  and  yet  Miss  Kimmidge 
— nobody,  could  possibly  guess  what  was  the  pur- 
port of  the  note. 

Miss  Kimmidge  certainly  did  not;  she  did  not 
even  try;  she  went  on  talking  to  the  Vicar  and 


THE  SUBSTITUTES  141 

listening  to  him  and  laughing,  while  Mrs.  Vearing 
wrote  her  note. 


1 '  MY  DEAR  MRS.  BONHAM, 

"I  am  sending  you  a  hasty  line  to  tell  you  that 
Adam  and  I  are  both  most  favourably  impressed 
by  Miss  Kimmidge,  and  feel  sure  that  she  will  do. 
Not  over  intellectual,  I  should  say,  but  with " 

She  was  about  to  write  " artistic  leanings,"  but 
paused  and  substituted  '  *  a  simple  straightforward 
nature." 

"a  simple  straightforward  nature,  the  kind 
of  person  you  would  desire — and  we  would  all  de- 
sire— to  be  the  companion  of  darling  Dome.  De- 
tails I  will  keep  till  we  meet,  but  I  cannot  refrain 
from  giving  you  at  once  this  outline  of  our  first 
impressions. 

"As  always,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham, 

"Your  affectionate  friend, 

"A.  V." 

Miss  Kimmidge  took  the  note  and  departed  for 
Layfield  Lodge.  She  paused  on  her  way  thither 
before  a  shop  window  and  once  more  altered  the 
angle  of  her  hat;  no  longer  jaunty,  she  was  able 
immediately  upon  her  arrival  at  the  Beeches  to 
take  Mrs.  Vearing 's  note  to  Mrs.  Bonham. 

Georgina  read  the  note  with  satisfaction.  She 
had  more  respect  for  Mrs.  Vearing 's  first  impres- 
sions than  for  her  maturer  judgment;  and  the 
Vicar,  though  she  did  not  attach  much  weight  to 


142  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

his  opinion — except  on  religious  subjects — did  not 
as  a  rule  take  to  people  who  were  not  nice. 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  visit  at  the  Vicar- 
age?" Georgina  asked,  refolding  the  note. 

"Oh,  very.    They  were  both  charming  to  me." 

"Mrs.  Vearing  is  most  kind  and  gentle,  and  the 
Vicar  is  so  thoroughly  conscientious." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge. 

"And  most  earnest  in  the  pulpit." 

Georgina  preferred  the  Vicar  in  the  pulpit  to 
the  Vicar  at  large :  she  would  have  liked — though 
had  the  idea  been  put  into  words  she  would  have 
scouted  it  with  horror — but  she  would  really  have 
liked  to  keep  him  there,  only  letting  him  out,  as  it 
were,  for  air  and  exercise.  She  regarded  him,  to 
some  extent,  as  a  horse,  admirable  in  harness  and 
quiet  in  the  stable,  but  not  wholly  subject  to  con- 
trol when  put  out  to  grass.  At  large  she  never 
quite  knew  where  to  have  him,  whereas  in  his 
proper  place  he  was  all  that  her  fancy,  as  a  pillar 
of  society,  painted  a  pillar  of  the  church. 


BOOK  III 
MI88  KIMMIDGE 

CHAPTER  I 

FOE  the  next  seven  years  all  went  well  at  the 
Beeches  and  in  Stottleham.  To  be  sure  there 
were  minor  misfortunes,  such  as  domestic  difficul- 
ties with  unprofitable  servants,  from  which  few 
households  were  exempt ;  and  there  were  bereave- 
ments. 

Of  these  Georgina  Bonham  had  her  share,  in  the 
death  of  a  brother-in-law  in  India  and  of  an  aunt 
at  Cheltenham.  She  bore  the  losses  with  a  calm 
fortitude  which  Stottleham  designated  Christian. 
Miss  Kimmidge  had  a  fleeting,  secret  notion  that 
the  calmness  and  the  fortitude  might  be  partly 
due  to  the  facts  that  Mrs.  Bonham  had  not  seen 
the  brother-in-law  for  fifteen  years  and  that  the 
aunt  left  her  five  thousand  pounds ;  but  she  hardly 
breathed  it  to  herself,  much  less  to  Stottleham. 
Georgina  herself,  in  agreement  with  Stottleham, 
ascribed  her  composure  to  Christianity. 

In  the  case  of  the  aunt  she  put  off  a  garden 
party  without  even  a  murmur  at  the  expense  and 
inconvenience  incurred ;  and  her  mourning  on  both 
occasions  was,  as  all  Stottleham  agreed,  in  the 
best  of  taste ;  not  overdone,  but  with  no  grudging 
in  outlay ;  just  like  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 

143 


144  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

By  the  time  of  the  second  death,  that  of  the 
aunt,  which  occurred  four  years  after  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  arrival,  Miss  Kimmidge  had  become  a 
Stottleham  institution.  She  was  firmly  estab- 
lished at  the  Beeches,  and  therefore  established  in 
Stottleham.  And  she  was  no  longer  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  nursery  governess  who  might  possibly  do, 
who  did  positively  do;  she  was  that  nice  Miss 
Kimmidge ;  and  that  nice  Miss  Kimmidge  was  as 
fully  accepted — though  of  course  in  a  different 
way — as  was  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  herself. 

Her  success  was  owing  partly  to  her  tact,  and 
partly  to  her  simplicity.  Tactful  she  was  and 
shrewd,  but  with  no  capacity  for  double-dealing; 
the  fact  that  she  wore  her  hat  straight  when  in  the 
company  of  Dorrie  and  her  mother  and  tilted  it 
when  she  went  out  to  tea  without  them  was  the 
extent  of  her  duplicity ;  and  while  she  did  not  act 
the  dragon  to  Hannah,  neither  did  she  fail  towards 
Mrs.  Bonham  in  the  character  of  watch-dog.  So 
that  those  who  at  first  were  disposed  to  designate 
her  deep  eventually  termed  her  transparent;  and 
perhaps  she  was  no  more  one  than  the  other. 

But  in  the  rearing  of  her  reputation  she  had  had 
perilous  moments,  and  one  of  these — it  lasted 
between  a  fortnight  and  three  weeks — occurred  not 
long  after  her  arrival. 

The  peril  was  in  the  form  of  Dr.  Rayke. 

Rayke  had  thought  that  Miss  Kimmidge  looked 
nice  when  she  laughed,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that 
he  would  like  to  see  her  laugh  again.  Experience 
confirmed  his  first  impression,  and,  on  the  pretext 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  145 

to  himself  and  Georgina  that  it  was  desirable  to 
test  Miss  Kimmidge  by  dropping  in  upon  her  un- 
awares, he  paid  frequent  visits  to  the  schoolroom, 
and  found  as  a  result  that  Miss  Kimmidge,  who 
certainly  did  look  very  nice  when  she  laughed, 
looked  also  rather  nice  when  she  didn't. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Rayke  ever  seriously  con- 
templated the  idea  of  installing  Miss  Kimmidge 
in  the  place  which  Mrs.  Bonham,  unknown  to  him- 
self, had  already  declined.  It  may  be  that  dreams 
may  have  arisen  within  him  and  that  he  recog- 
nized them  as  merely  dreams;  it  may  be  that  he 
did  not  dream  at  all,  but  that,  finding  Miss  Kim- 
midge pleasant  to  look  upon,  he  just  let  himself 
drift;  such  things  have  been  known,  even  in 
methodically  minded  gentlemen  of  fifty.  Anyhow, 
it  came  to  pass  that  one  day,  finding  Miss  Kim- 
midge alone  in  the  garden,  Rayke  made  eyes  at 
her. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  what  he  was  mak- 
ing. Miss  Kimmidge  had  no  doubt,  and  her 
shrewdness  at  once  perceived  the  salient  points 
in  the  situation.  The  most  obvious  one  was  that 
Rayke  was  a  silly  old  thing;  the  most  important 
was  that  Mrs.  Bonham  would  be  deeply  annoyed 
— chiefly  with  Miss  Kimmidge;  the  one  that  de- 
manded immediate  attention  was  the  putting  out 
of  the  eyes  that  Rayke  was  making. 

So  when  Rayke,  languishing,  said:  "I  suppose 
you  look  upon  me  as  quite  old,"  Miss  Kimmidge, 
instead  of  responding  with  the  denial  he  expected, 
replied:  "Oh,  but  I  don't  mind  people  being  old, 


146  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

you  know,  so  long  as  they  have  their  faculties ;  and 
you  still  have." 

It  put  an  end  to  the  peril.  Eayke,  though  Miss 
Kimmidge  laughed  as  she  spoke,  did  not  think  she 
looked  nice  as  she  did  it;  he  thought  indeed  she 
looked  horrid. 

From  that  moment  he  ceased  to  test  her;  Mrs. 
Bonham,  he  told  himself,  must  look  after  her  own 
governess.  For  Miss  Kimmidge  had  re-become 
no  more  and  no  less  than  the  nursery  governess 
at  the  Beeches,  and  very  soon  he  forgot  that  he 
had  ever  looked  upon  her  as  anything  else. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  garden  party  which  had  been  put  off  in 
June  took  place  in  September,  and  the  day  chosen 
for  it  was  Dome's  birthday.  Because  it  was 
Dome's  birthday,  there  was  a  children's  party 
which  went  on  side  by  side  with  the  grown-up 
party,  and  a  special  bit  of  the  garden,  with  a 
special  tea-table,  was  set  apart  for  Dorrie  and  her 
friends. 

People  liked  Mrs.  Bonham 's  parties,  because 
everything  was  so  nicely  done.  Georgina,  when 
she  entertained,  was  not  obtrusively  lavish,  but  she 
was  generously  adequate.  There  was  plenty  of 
champagne  cup  and  claret  cup,  and  both  were  ex- 
cellently brewed.  That  was  Rayke's  department. 
Georgina  and  Rayke  both  considered  that  any- 
thing to  do  with  alcohol  was  man's  province  and 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  147 

beyond  the  discrimination  of  woman's  palate;  and 
although  Georgina  really  had  a  correct  taste  in 
the  matter  of  claret,  hock,  champagne  and  port, 
and  a  subtle  appreciation  of  liqueurs,  she  always 
consulted  Rayke  on  the  contents  of  her  cellar,  and 
handed  over  to  him  the  whole  responsibility  of 
garden-party  beverages;  those,  that  is  to  say,  in 
which  alcohol  played  a  part. 

The  lemonade,  the  tea,  and  the  coffee,  both  iced 
and  hot,  were,  she  considered,  entirely  within  the 
sphere  of  feminine  capacity,  as  also  the  whole 
of  the  food,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
achievement  supported  her  theory.  Everybody 
said  that  there  was  no  hostess  in  the  town,  or  in- 
deed the  neighbourhood,  who  provided  such  nice 
teas  as  dear  Mrs.  Bonham;  such  delicious  fruit, 
such  dainty  cakes,  such  a  variety  of  sandwiches. 

The  everybody  who  came  to  the  garden  party 
did  not  of  course  mean  the  everybody  of  Stottle- 
ham  at  large.  Miss  Pottlebury,  for  instance,  and 
Mrs.  Markham  and  many  others  were  only  invited 
to  the  Beeches  when  the  entertainment  had  a  phil- 
anthropic, a  religious  or  a  political  flavour:  but 
at  every  entertainment,  however  mixed,  the  food 
and  drink  were  excellent,  and  most  people  of  re- 
spectability in  Stottleham  had  had  an  opportunity 
of  testing  not  only  Mrs.  Bonham 's  cakes,  tea  and 
coffee,  but  also  her  ices,  even  her  claret  cup.  The 
champagne  cup  was  purely  social. 

At  Dorrie  's  table  under  the  beech  tree,  there  was 
no  cup  of  any  kind,  but  there  were  peaches  and 
grapes  and  there  were  also  ices.  Miss  Kim- 


148  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

midge  had  been  told  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  ices, 
lest  the  guests  should  too  flagrantly  court  indiges- 
tion; but  the  eye  that  Miss  Kimmidge  kept 
winked  even  as  it  winked  at  the  tenderness  of 
Hannah.  She  did  exercise  a  certain  controlling 
supervision,  but  she  could  not  be  a  dragon  all  the 
time;  intermittently  she  was  next  door  to  a  con- 
federate, and  the  amount  of  strawberry-cream  ice 
which  disappeared  under  the  beech  tree  was  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  number  of  the  guests. 
But  then,  as  Miss  Kimmidge  explained  afterwards 
to  Mrs.  Bonham,  there  were  many  guests  who  did 
not  properly  belong  to  Dorrie's  party  and  yet 
partook  of  refreshments  under  Dorrie's  tree. 
There  was,  for  instance,  Pat  Saunders-Parr,  who 
was  twenty-one,  and  his  sister,  who  was  eighteen ; 
whereas  Dorrie's  only  real  guest  in  the  family  was 
Gwendolen,  who  was  twelve.  And  besides  the 
Saunders-Parrs  there  was  their  cousin,  Len  For- 
tescue,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  and  various  other  people 
who  had  no  business  to  eat  ices  at  Dorrie's  table. 

Dorrie,  at  the  party,  had  long  black  legs  and 
short  white  skirts  and  a  Panama  hat,  and  Len 
Fortescue  said  she  was  the  prettiest  kid  he  had 
seen  for  a  long  time.  She  enjoyed  herself  im- 
mensely— except  when  Len  pretended  to  choke 
over  a  peach  and  made  her  almost  sick  with  fear ; 
and  everybody  complimented  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 
upon  her  charming  little  girl. 

Georgina  herself  was  radiant.  She  knew  that 
in  her  carefully  selected  black  and  white  and  her 
new  London  hat  she  was  looking  her  best,  and  she 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  149 

knew  that  Eayke  eyed  her  with  approval.  She  had 
not  realized  Rayke's  lapse  in  the  direction  of  Miss 
Kimmidge;  it  had  been  too  short-lived  and  too 
little  encouraged  by  Miss  Kimmidge  to  be  overt 
to  Georgina's  perception:  but  she  did  realize  that 
on  this  afternoon  Rayke  was  subject  to  a  re- 
crudescence of  the  livelier  phase  of  his  devotion 
to  herself;  and  the  realization  was  pleasant.  It 
was  agreeable  to  be  considered  desirable  even 
though  the  desire  were  unpractical:  agreeable  too 
that  the  confidential  friend  should  behold  the  ad- 
miration and  deference  accorded  to  her  by  friends 
not  confidential.  It  showed  him  how  many  others 
there  were  who  would  be  glad  to  step  into  his 
shoes  and  how  careful  he  should  be  not  to  with- 
draw his  feet.  So  Georgina,  with  a  flush  upon  her 
face  which  was  very  becoming,  and  conscious  that 
she  was  an  all-round  success,  out-Bonhamed  Mrs. 
Bonham  in  dearness,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  her- 
self. 

Yet  her  chief  satisfaction  was  not  in  her  own 
success,  but  in  the  success  of  Dorrie :  the  position 
of  Dorrie 's  mother  meant  more  to  her  than  even 
the  position  of  Mrs.  Bonham,  who  was  in  the  best 
set  in  Stottleham,  and  not  only  that,  but  branched 
out  in  acquaintances  beyond  Stottleham  into  the 
surrounding  county.  And  indeed  the  crown  of 
Georgina's  enjoyment  of  the  party  was  that  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  county  vied  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  Stottleham  in  admiration  of  Dorrie. 

"What  a  charming  child!  Such  a  sweet  little 
face.  Aren  't  you  proud  of  her ! ' ' 


150  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"She  is  pretty,  I  think."  Georgina  tried  to 
make  her  voice  judicial.  "But  then,  you  see  .  .  . 
a  mother's  eyes  ..." 

"But  I  assure  you  that  no  eyes  could  think  her 
anything  else.  She's  quite  a  picture." 

Then  a  little  further  on  it  was: 

"Your  Dorrie  is  the  belle  of  the  party.  Such 
a  darling  to  look  at  and  the  dearest  little 
manners." 

Georgina  went  beaming  on  her  way.  She  had 
a  moment  when  she  would  have  liked  to  take 
Dorrie  in  her  arms  and  hug  her,  but  she  did 
not  of  course  do  anything  of  the  kind;  such  an 
exhibition  of  affection  would  have  been  un- 
seemly. 

Under  the  beech  tree,  Hannah,  serving  out  re- 
freshments, also  beamed.  To  feast  her  eyes  upon 
Dorrie  and  to  hear  the  comments  made  upon  her 
was  quite  enough  to  transport  Hannah  to  the  sev- 
enth heaven;  and  in  the  seventh  heaven  she  re- 
mained most  of  the  afternoon,  sacrificing  an  ice- 
plate  and  a  teacup  to  the  loftiness  of  her  position. 
A  duke — in  a  few  years — certainly  nothing  less. 
But  would  even  a  duke  .  .  .?  Eoyalty  itself 
would  hardly  .  .  . 

"Please  will  you  give  me  another  ice — the 
cream — for  Miss  Bonham ! ' ' 

Down  came  Hannah  from  the  seventh  heaven  to 
the  ice-pail. 

"She's  had  four,  sir,  and  I  don't  know " 

"But  she  wants  it — awfully,  and  they  don't  keep, 
you  know.  She  can 't  have  any  to-morrow. : 


>  ? 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  151 

It  was  Len  Fortescue  who  pleaded,  and  Len  had 
pleading  eyes  as  well  as  a  pleading  voice. 

Hannah  hesitated,  and  cast  a  beseeching  glance 
at  Dorrie.  Dorrie  understood  the  glance  and  came 
over  to  her. 

"I'm  not  a  bit  sick,  and  they're  lovely — Nurse. " 

She  hardly  ever  called  Hannah  Nurse  now,  only 
on  special  occasions,  if  Hannah  had  a  headache  or 
a  toothache  or  Dorrie  a  supreme  desire.  How 
could  Hannah  do  anything  but  give  in  to  her  ? 

"You'll  have  one  too,"  Dorrie  said  to  Len. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can." 

1 1  Oh,  you  must !    A  water  one  at  any  rate. ' ' 

"All  right,  a  water  one." 

"Cherry  or  lemon,  sir?" 

"Oh,  cherry,  won't  you?"  said  Dome.  "It's 
more  delicious." 

"Cherry,  please." 

The  two  retired,  Len  carrying  both  the  plates, 
and  sat  down  on  a  rug  that  was  laid  at  the  foot  of 
the  beech  tree. 

"If  he'd  have  been  a  prince,"  thought  Hannah, 
"I  don't  know  but  what  .  .  ." 

Something  gripped  her,  inside,  and  strangled  the 
thought.  She  did  not  want  a  concrete  prince,  and 
Len  Fortescue  was  concrete:  what  she  really 
wanted  was  that  Dorrie  should  never  grow  up. 


152       THE  THUNDERBOLT 

CHAPTEE  III 

If  Miss  Kimmidge  had  been  on  the  spot  it  is 
doubtful  whether  Dorrie  would  have  eaten  her  fifth 
ice,  but  Miss  Kimmidge,  through  no  fault  of  her 
own,  was  not  anywhere  near  the  spot  when  Dorrie 
and  Len  began  upon  the  strawberry  cream  and 
cherry  water.  She  had  been  commissioned  by 
Mrs.  Bonham  to  fetch  smelling  salts  for  a  lady — 
a  county  lady — who  felt  faint,  and  she  did  not  re- 
turn to  the  'beech  tree  till  the  ices  had  disappeared, 
and  the  plates  had  gone  into  the  tub  behind  Han- 
nah's table.  Nevertheless  upon  Miss  Kimmidge 's 
shoulders  fell  the  blame  of  the  indisposition  which 
resulted  from  the  ices. 

"I  told  you  to  look  after  her,"  said  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham.  "You  know  what  children  are." 

"I  did  look  after  her  as  much  as  I  could,"  Miss 
Kimmidge  answered  deprecatingly.  *  *  But  I  think 
it's  partly  the  excitement." 

Mrs.  Bonham  pondered.  "Perhaps,"  she  said. 
"Dorrie,  of  course,  is  very  sensitive." 

Dorrie,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  neither  more  nor 
less  sensitive  than  most  children;  in  her  nervous 
organization  she  was  pretty  well  normal;  but  it 
was  more  in  accord  with  Georgina's  idea  of  her 
that  she  should  suffer  from  emotional  rather  than 
stomachic  disturbances.  Even  Rayke  considered 
that  what  would  have  been  hysterical  in  Miss  Kim- 
midge was  permissible  and  even  interesting  in 
Mrs.  Bonham's  only  child;  and  when  Mrs.  Bonham 
consulted  him — as  a  friend,  for  Rayke  no  longer 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  153 

practised — he  adopted  Miss  Kimmidge's  sugges- 
tion, put  forward  to  him  by  Georgina  as  her  own. 

Rayke  came,  as  so  often  he  came  to  the  Beeches, 
in  answer  to  a  note  sent  by  hand.  The  note  on  this 
occasion  was  not  welcome.  Eayke  was  busy  with 
his  botany,  and  was  not  at  all  eager  to  go  and  state 
the  very  obvious  reason  why  Dorrie  had  been  sick. 
He  was  inclined  to  swear  and  did  in  fact  relieve  his 
feelings  by  swearing:  but  he  sent  back  a  polite 
message  to  the  effect  that  he  would  be  at  the 
Beeches  in  half  an  hour.  On  his  way  his  annoy- 
ance dissolved.  He  had  a  greater  tenderness  of 
feeling  for  Dorrie  than  he  had  ever  had  for  any- 
body, save  for  the  late  Mrs.  Eayke  before  he  had 
married  her ;  and  the  glamour  of  the  garden  party 
still  hovered  about  the  figure  of  Georgina.  So 
that  he  arrived  at  the  Beeches  in  a  mood  befitting 
the  confidential  and  devoted  friend. 

Miss  Kimmidge  received  him.  Miss  Kimmidge, 
who  at  the  time  of  the  eye-making  had  been  care- 
fully demure,  was  now  deferentially  casual. 
Rayke  for  her  had  become  definitely  and  perma- 
nently a  funny  old  thing;  while  he,  on  his  side,  had 
forgotten  that  he  had  ever  looked  at  her  through 
anything  less  prosaic  than  an  eyeglass. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  Miss  Kimmidge  informed  him, 
was  in  Dorrie 's  room.  Would  he  be  so  kind  as  to 
go  up  f  Rayke  went  up. 

Georgina,  the  flush  of  yesterday  departed,  was 
still  illumined  by  the  afterglow  of  success :  she  did 
not  appear  so  attractive  as  she  had  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  her  guests,  but  still,  Rayke  thought,  she 


154  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

looked  rather  nice.  Dorrie,  in  the  whitest  of  white 
night-dresses  and  a  little  pale  blue  bed-jacket,  was 
rather  enjoying  herself.  All  sorts  of  toys  and 
books  were  gathered  around  her,  and  Kimmy  and 
Mummy  were  her  devoted  slaves :  Hannah,  more- 
over, while  Mummy  was  at  breakfast,  had  crept 
in  and  revelled  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  slavery. 

Rayke,  having  tested  tongue  and  pulse,  pro- 
nounced further  doctoring  unnecessary.  Yes,  no 
doubt  she  had  been  over-excited,  and  the  excite- 
ment had  helped  to  upset  her  digestion.  Let  her 
be  kept  quiet  to-day  and  on  a  light  diet,  and  she 
would  be  all  right  to-morrow.  She  could  get  up 
in  the  afternoon. 

Georgina's  chief  care,  after  the  verdict  was  to 
know  whether  the  diet  should  be  confined  to  liquid 
food,  or  should  it  include  chicken?  Dorrie 's 
anxiety  was  to  know  whether  she  might  have 
lemonade.  Mummy  had  only  given  her  plain 
water,  and  when  she  had  the  measles  she  had  had 
lemonade.  And  she  knew  there  was  a  lot  over 
from  the  party. 

"I  thought  it  might  upset  her  again,"  said  Geor- 
gina.  "I  thought  probably  she  had  too  much 
yesterday." 

"But  I  didn't,  Mummy;  lemonade  was  what  I 
didn't  have." 

Rayke  pronounced  in  favour  of  the  lemonade, 
thereby  earning  a  fervent  kiss  from  Dorrie,  and 
also  approval  from  Georgina,  who  always  pre- 
ferred that  Dorrie 's  desires  should  be  gratified 
rather  than  thwarted. 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  155 

His  visit  completely  did  away  with  Georgina's 
slight  anxiety  and  left  her  free  to  recall  the  many 
flattering  incidents  of  the  day  before.  It  also 
completely  restored  to  favour  the  censured  Miss 
Kimmidge,  who,  initiating  the  theory  of  Dome's 
sensitiveness,  had  been  proved  a  correct  diagnosti- 
cian. 

CHAPTER  IV 

Miss  Kimmidge  was  delighted  to  feel  once  more 
the  sunshine  of  Mrs.  Bonham's  approval.  Ac- 
cepted by  Stottleham,  she  had  accepted,  to  a  large 
extent,  the  Stottleham  attitude  and  outlook;  she 
too  was  disposed  to  regard  Georgina  as  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham.  To  be  sure  she  still  suffered  from  some 
of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham's  limitations — the  very 
limitations  which  endeared  Mrs.  Bonham  to 
Stottleham — ;  but  Georgina's  kindness  and  the 
generous  comfort  which  pervaded  her  household 
appealed  to  Miss  Kimmidge  and  built  up  in  her 
loyalty  and  even  affection. 

As  for  the  limitations,  so  long  as  you  respected 
and  did  not  attempt  to  combat  them,  everything 
was  all  right;  so  why  not  respect  them?  If  Mrs. 
Bonham  in  regard  to  Hannah,  was  not  so  gener- 
ous in  feeling  as  in  food,  it  was  better  to  attempt 
in  no  way  to  alter  the  feeling,  but  to  make 
Hannah's  path  as  smooth  as  might  be.  If,  in  con- 
nection with  nursery  governesses,  Mrs.  Bonham 
had  ideas  which  could  not  be  classed  as  broad,  it 
was  better  in  no  wise  to  rebel  against  a  narrow- 


156  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

ness  which,  as  far  as  Miss  Kimmidge  was  con- 
cerned, manifested  itself  only  in  ways  which  did 
not  matter.  If  some  of  Mrs.  Bonham's  views  were 
first  cousins  to  prejudice,  it  was  better  to  accept 
the  relationship  than  to  make  any  effort  to  sever 
it.  Miss  Kimmidge 's  ultimate  conviction  was  that 
Mrs.  Bonham  was  a  kind  and  really  a  dear  old 
thing,  and  in  the  depths  of  that  conviction  she 
buried  all  that  was  not  wholly  pleasant  to  contem- 
plate. 

It  may  be,  too,  that  Mrs.  Bonham  came  within 
the  influence  of  the  spell  which  now  for  Miss  Kim- 
midge beautified  and  beatified  all  Stottleham. 
Miss  Pottlebury,  innocent  and  ambitious,  had  from 
the  beginning  taken  a  fancy  to  Miss  Kimmidge, 
had  shown  her  little  attentions,  and  on  the  first 
opportunity  had  asked  her  to  tea.  Miss  Kim- 
midge, appreciating  the  kindness  shown  her,  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  reciprocated  the  fancy ;  and 
certainly  Miss  Pottlebury 's  society  was  not  of  a 
•nature  to  invest  all  Stottleham  with  charm.  But 
Miss  Pottlebury  had  a  brother. 

The  brother  did  not  appear  at  the  first  tea- 
party,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third,  nor  indeed 
at  all  till  Miss  Kimmidge  had  been  three  years 
in  Stottleham.  Then  he  was  transferred  from  the 
American  branch  of  a  business  in  New  York  to  the 
English  house  in  London,  and  then  he  came  down 
to  spend  a  week  with  Myra.  Miss  Pottlebury 's 
name  was  Myra. 

Miss  Pottlebury 's  brother  was  not  the  least  like 
Miss  Pottlebury,  except  in  a  general,  indeterminate 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  157 

way.  He  was  tall,  as  was  also  Miss  Pottlebury, 
and  fair,  and  had  eyes  which,  like  hers,  were  more 
blue  than  anything  else.  But  whereas  Miss  Pot- 
tlebury, whose  clothes  were  of  such  good  material 
that  they  always  outlasted  the  fashions,  looked  un- 
deniably dowdy,  Ludovic  looked  definitely  smart. 
His  trousers  had  a  crease  down  each  leg  and  he 
had  a  predilection  for  spotless  linen. 

"He  puts  on  a  clean  shirt  every  day,"  Miss 
Pottlebury  confided  to  Miss  Kimmidge.  "Two, 
sometimes,  if  it's  very  hot." 

"I  like  clean  shirts,"  responded  Miss  Kim- 
midge.  "It  makes  all  the  difference." 

This  was  some  time  after  Ludovic 's  advent, 
when  Miss  Kimmidge 's  interest  in  him  had  begun 
to  be  lively.  Previous  to  his  appearance,  she  had 
been  a  little  bored  by  Miss  Pottlebury 's  tales  of 
the  brother  who  was  twelve  years  younger  than 
herself,  and  "the  flower  of  the  Pottlebury  flock": 
but  the  tales  ceased  to  pall  when  she  became 
acquainted  with  the  flower. 

The  first  meeting  took  place  on  a  Sunday  after- 
noon. 

"Dear  Ludovic  is  coming  on  Saturday,"  Miss 
Pottlebury  had  said,  "and  you  simply  must  come 
and  meet  him. ' ' 

Miss  Pottlebury,  planning  the  introduction  of 
friend  to  brother,  was  thrilled  with  excited  expec- 
tation: Miss  Kimmidge,  expecting  to  meet  a  male 
Myra,  was  unthrilled  and  disposed  towards  bore- 
dom. Yet,  having  no  reason  for  refusing  the  in- 
vitation, she  accepted  it. 


158  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

CHAPTER  V 

Miss  Kimmidge,  setting  out  for  Miss  Pottle- 
bury 's  on  Sunday  afternoon,  had  on  her  best  coat 
and  skirt;  not  because  she  had  any  intention  or 
desire  to  impress  Miss  Pottlebury's  brother,  but 
because  it  was  Sunday;  and  she  stole  out  of  the 
Beeches  with  her  hat  well  down  over  her  right  ear 
simply  and  solely  because  Miss  Pottlebury's  was 
a  house  in  which  she  could  throw  off  what  she 
called  the  Stottleham  mask. 

And  when  she  got  to  Miss  Pottlebury's,  there — 
to  repeat  a  joke  of  the  Vicar's — instead  of  a  male 
Myra,  was  an  ad-mirer. 

The  joke  was  made  long  after,  when  Miss  Kim- 
midge  confided  to  the  Vicar  an  account  of  her  first 
interview  with  Ludovic,  and  when  even  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing  was  able  to  laugh  at  it.  At  the  beginning  of 
Miss  Kimmidge 's  interest  in  Ludovic,  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing  viewed  Ludovic  with  antagonism,  it  being  her 
pet  plan  at  that  time  to  bring  about  a  romantic 
attachment  between  Miss  Kimmidge  and  the 
curate  of  a  neighbouring  parish.  The  drawback 
to  the  plan  was  that  neither  the  curate  nor  Miss 
Kimmidge,  though  on  friendly  terms,  were  stirred 
by  feelings  at  all  romantic ;  but  nevertheless  Mrs. 
Vearing  resented  the  intrusion  of  Miss  Pottle- 
bury's brother,  and  for  some  time  ignored  the  fact 
of  his  existence. 

The  result  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's  lack  of  sympathy 
was  that  Miss  Kimmidge,  during  the  uncertain  and 
exciting  days  of  a  courtship  necessarily  inter- 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  159 

mittent,  since  it  could  only  be  conducted  during 
Ludovic's  visits  to  Miss  Pottlebury,  avoided  the 
Vicarage,  where  she  had  become  Mrs.  Vearing's 
nice  little  friend  and  laughter-in-ordinary  to  the 
Vicar;  and  in  the  ups  and  downs  of  these  days 
she  found  her  only  confidante  in  Hannah. 

1  'Hannah,"  Miss  Kimmidge  would  say,  "he's 
coming  Saturday  for  the  week-end." 

"You  don't  say  so,  Miss  Patricia.  I  hope  it'll 
be  fine." 

"I  shall  go,  fine  or  not  fine.  Miss  Pottlebury 
has  invited  me." 

"It's  your  hat  I'm  thinking  of,  Miss." 

"I  shall  wear  the  best,  wet  or  fine,  because  he 
likes  it.  I  know  he  does  by  the  way  he  looked  at  it ; 
you  can  tell,  you  know. ' ' 

"I  daresay,  Miss  Patricia." 

Another  time  it  was:  "Hannah,  he  saw  me 
home." 

"Never,  Miss." 

"Yes,  and  what  do  you  think!" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Miss." 

"He  asked  me  to  call  him  Ludovic." 

Hannah,  lively  in  interest  but  laconic  in  expres- 
sion, could  only  repeat :  "I  never,  Miss  Patricia !" 

"He  did;  and  so  of  course — what  else  could  I 
do?  I  asked  him  to  call  me  Pat." 

"And  did  he,  Miss?" 

"He  wanted  me  to  make  it  Patty,  but  I  said  I 
couldn't  stand  that,  it  reminded  me  too  much  of 
oysters.  I  always  think  of  oysters  and  patties  to- 
gether, don't  you?" 


160  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I  don't  know  that  I  do,  Miss  Patricia." 

* '  And  what  do  you  think  he  said  1 ' ' 

''I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Miss  Patricia.  Per- 
haps that  he'd  like  to  eat  you  up." 

' '  Oh  no,  Hannah,  it  was  something  about  oysters 
and  pearls — too  silly  really  to  tell  you. ' ' 

' '  They  will  talk  silly,  Miss,  at  times.  My  young 
man  that  died  was  just  the  same." 

Sometimes  Miss  Kimmidge  expressed  herself 
in  generalities.  Hannah,  with  the  hot-water  can, 
would  pause  by  the  washstand  while  Miss  Kim- 
midge  voiced  her  views,  and  even  when  Hannah 
had  toothache,  she  was  ready  to  listen  to  Miss  Kim- 
midge. 

" Hannah,  if  I  ever  marry,  it  won't  be  satin." 

"Not  satin,  Miss  Patricia?  But  satin  and  a 
veil  go  lovely  together," 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  it's  too  rich  and  shiny  for 
my  style.  I  should  like  to  be  married  in  the 
summer  and  have  something  thin  and  floating,  and 
a  wreath  of  white  roses." 

"Not  orange  blossoms,  Miss  Patricia?" 

"No.  It's  correct,  I  know,  but  I  always  see  my- 
self in  roses." 

"I  see  Miss  Dorrie  in  orange  blossoms,  Miss, 
and  a  lace  veil  and  satin  so  shiny  you  could  see 
your  face  in  it." 

"Miss  Dorrie 's  different,  of  course.  She'd 
carry  it  off." 

But  Miss  Kimmidge  had  her  hours  of  depres- 
sion, and  then  it  would  be: 

"Hannah,  I  shall  never  marry." 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  161 

"Oh,  come,  Miss,"  Hannah  would  say. 

"I  don't  believe  he  really  cares.  He  may  just 
be  flirting." 

1 1  Oh,  no,  Miss,  from  what  you  tell  me  of  how  he 
carries  on." 

"Think  of  all  the  girls  he  must  see  in  London, 
Hannah. ' ' 

"I  shouldn't  think  nothing  about  'em  if  I  was 
you,  Miss." 

"I  feel  sure  I  shall  die  an  old  maid." 

"Not  you,  Miss." 

"You  don't  really  think  so?" 

"I  do,  Miss  Patricia.  I  always  seem  to  see  you 
in  a  'ome  of  your  own." 

No  wonder  that  Miss  Kimmidge  in  her  hours  of 
depression  found  Hannah  not  only  a  dear  but  also 
a  comforting  old  thing. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Miss  Kimmidge 's  courtship  had  gone  on  for 
some  time  before  its  existence  became  known  to 
Georgina.  Her  enlightenment  came  finally  not 
through  her  own  observation  but  through  Mrs. 
Vearing. 

Many  people,  to  be  sure,  had  hinted  to  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  that  that  nice  Miss  Kimmidge  was  a  great 
deal  at  Miss  Pottlebury's  when  Mr.  Ludovic 
Pottlebury  was  at  home;  but  Mrs.  Bonham  had 
not  heeded  the  hints.  She  had  not  met  Mr.  Pottle- 
bury  ;  she  did  not  frequent  the  society  in  which  he 


162  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

was  to  be  met ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  highly  improb- 
able that  the  brother  of  a  person  so  little  attrac- 
tive as  Miss  Pottlebury  could  have  any  attractions 
for  Miss  Kimmidge.  Miss  Kimmidge,  perhaps, 
was  amusing  herself  a  little,  and  for  a  girl  to 
amuse  herself  was,  Georgina  held,  pardonably  per- 
missible, provided  always  that  the  amusement  was 
moderate  and  conducted  with  discretion.  And 
with  Miss  Pottlebury  as  chaperone  .  .  .!  Geor- 
gina felt  she  could  comfortably  leave  Miss  Kim- 
midge to  her  amusement,  especially  as  it  evidently 
served  to  keep  her  bright,  and  it  was  desirable  that 
Dome's  nursery  governess  should  not  fail  in 
brightness. 

Mrs.  Vearing,  who,  as  the  Vicar's  wife,  had  met 
Mr.  Pottlebury,  had  noted  with  jealous  distress 
that  his  attractions,  at  any  rate  for  Patricia  (Mrs. 
Vearing  had  called  Miss  Kimmidge  by  her 
Christian  name  after  a  month's  acquaintance- 
ship), far  outweighed  the  attractions  of  the  curate ; 
but  for  a  long  time  she  said  nothing  to  Georgina. 
At  first  she  did  no.t  wish  to  expose  her  own  designs 
with  regard  to  the  curate ;  and  then,  resigning  her- 
self at  last  to  their  failure,  she  espoused  what  she 
called  the  cause  of  the  lovers.  Having  espoused 
it,  Mrs.  Vearing  was  a  little  afraid  lest  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  might  not  approve  of  the  espousal.  She 
felt  herself  to  be  something  of  a  conspirator,  and 
to  conspire  against  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  was  almost 
an  iniquity. 

Nevertheless  the  position  held  a  charm  which 
she  could  not  resist,  and  she  continued  to  further 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  163 

the  courtship  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  Often  did  her 
conscience  prick  her,  often  in  the  presence  of  her 
friend  did  confusion  arising  from  a  sense  of  dis- 
loyalty overtake  her;  many  a  sleepless  hour  did 
she  pass  at  night,  wondering  what  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  would  say  if  she  knew ;  many  a  time  did  she, 
as  it  were,  confess  herself  to  Adam  and  invite 
absolution. 

Adam  gave  the  absolution  with.careless  prompti- 
tude, but  with  a  tendency  at  the  same  time  to 
present  the  case  in  a  manner  which  Alicia  felt  to 
be  almost  brutal  in  its  frankness. 

"My  dear  Alicia,  you  can't  possibly  hunt  both 
with  the  hare  and  the  hounds.  And  the  hound  is 
quite  able  to  look  after  herself,  so  don't  bother." 

It  was  rather  dreadful  to  Mrs.  Vearing  to  hear 
Mrs.  Bonham  called  a  hound,  even  in  metaphor; 
but  she  would  never  be  able  to  make  Adam  under- 
stand why  it  was  dreadful,  so  she  replied  to  the 
effect  that  what  upset  her  was  that  she  felt  she 
had  failed  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  in  loyalty. 

"Where  in  the  name  of  fortune  is  the  dis- 
loyalty to  Mrs.  Bonham  in  asking  that  nice  little 
girl  to  meet  her  young  man  at  tea?  'Tisn't  as  if 
Mrs.  Bonham  wanted  him  herself." 

"Really,  Adam,  how  can  you  even  think  .  .  . 
in  connection  with  Mrs.  Bonham  ..." 

"You  make  one  think  all  sorts  of  absurdities, 
my  dear,  by  being  so  absurd  yourself.  Besides, 
you  know  you  could  never  keep  your  finger  out  of 
a  match-making  pie." 

Mrs.  Vearing  knew  she  could  not,  and  subsided 


164  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

for  a  time,  calmed  by  Adam's  breezy  indifference 
if  not  by  his  arguments;  then,  once  more,  con- 
science would  urge  her  to  discussion. 

But  at  last  there  came  a  day  when,  to  her  in- 
expressible relief,  she  found  her  conduct  not  only 
condoned  but  justified,  and  more  than  justified,  in 
the  eyes  of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 


CHAPTEE  VII 

Miss  Kimmidge,  who  had  supplanted  Nurse,  ac- 
quired, in  the  course  of  time,  Nurse's  disabilities. 
Not  that  she  had  assumed  the  supremacy  in  Dor- 
rie  's  world  which  had,  though  unadmitted  by  Geor- 
gina,  been  nevertheless  the  head  and  front  of 
Nurse's  offending:  Miss  Kimmidge,  with  Hannah 
constantly  before  her,  was  wise  enough  to  run  no 
risk  of  playing  too  prominent  a  part  in  her  pupil's 
interest. 

But  there  was  one  direction,  in  respect  of  which 
no  amount  of  tact,  discretion  and  niceness  could 
prevent  Miss  Kimmidge 's  position  from  outgrow- 
ing Miss  Kimmidge.  Her  accent,  unlike  Han- 
nah's, was  unassailable,  her  influence,  unlike 
Hannah's,  was  limited;  but  her  knowledge  was 
limited  as  well  as  her  influence,  and  her  capacity 
as  a  teacher  did  not  increase  with  what  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  called  Dorrie's  requirements.  Mrs.  Bonham, 
with  some  reluctance,  acknowledged  the  fact; 
Eayke,  with  greater  reluctance,  and  with  the 
search  which  had  preceded  Miss  Kimmidge  vivid 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  165 

in  his  recollection,  confirmed  it.  Dorrie,  to  be 
sure,  was  not  particularly  clever,  not,  indeed, 
clever  at  all,  and  neither  Bayke  nor  Georgina 
wished  her  to  be  more  than  usually  intelligent 
or  more  than  usually  well  educated ;  their  standard 
of  usualness  being  the  standard  of  Stottleham. 
But  Miss  Kimmidge  was  not  even  up  to  Stottle- 
ham. 

"You  couldn't  expect  it,"  said  Georgina  at  a 
consultation  tea,  "in  a  nursery  governess." 

"You  engaged  her,  if  you  remember,"  Eayke 
replied,  "to  take  the  place  of  Hannah.  And  to 
supplant  Hannah — well,  you  didn't  need  so  very 
much. ' ' 

"She  can't  speak  French  at  all,  and  the 
grammar  isn't  much  good  alone." 

French  was  the  one  subject  in  regard  to  which 
Georgina 's  ambition  outsoared  the  complacency 
of  Stottleham.  She  wished  Dorrie  to  be  able  to 
speak  French  because  it  would  be  so  useful  when 
she  and  her  mother  went  abroad.  Georgina, 
travelling  with  Dorrie 's  father,  had  realized  that  it 
was  "nice"  to  be  able  to  speak  French. 

"I  can't  speak  French  myself,  and  I  have  got 
on  very  well  without  it,"  Rayke  said.  "But  it's 
different  for  a  woman — quite  a  good  thing." 

1 1  Her  father  spoke  fluently. ' ' 

There  was  that  rare  thing  in  Georgina 's  voice 
— rare  when  she  spoke  to  Rayke — a  touch  of  acer- 
bity. Rayke  hastened  to  offer  an  indirect 
apology. 

"Ah,  but  he  was  exceptional  in  that  way,"  he 


166  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

said.  To  himself  he  thought:  "A  philandering 
fellow  like  that  would  speak  French." 

"And  I  think  a  woman  ought  to  be  able  to  keep 
accounts,"  Georgina  went  on.  " Household  ac- 
counts, I  mean — to  be  able  to  add  up  her  books  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing/' 

"Double  entry?"  laughed  Bayke. 

Mrs.  Bonham  ignored  the  laugh  and  the  sugges- 
tion :  she  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  amused. 

"Miss  Kimmidge  has  an  extraordinary  way,  in 
keeping  her  own  accounts,"  she  said,  "of  putting 
the  credit  and  debit  on  the  same  page.  I  can't 
think  how  she  ever  keeps  them  straight." 

"I  couldn't,"  said  Bayke,  "attempt  to  follow 
the  evolutions  of  the  ordinary  feminine  mind. 
But  it 's  quite  evident,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  that 
you  must  make  a  change." 

"I'm  afraid  so."  Georgina  sighed.  "But  it's 
most  trying.  It  was  bad  enough  with  Hannah,  but 
nothing  to  this." 

"In  some  ways  it  seems  not  quite  so  difficult." 

"In  almost  every  way  it's  more  difficult.  You 
see  I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Nurse,  but  I  don 't  want 
to  get  rid  of  Miss  Kimmidge." 

"Yes;  of  course." 

"And  I  shall  find  it  most  unpleasant  to  tell  her 
to  go. ' ' 

"You  couldn't — might  you  not  get  Mrs.  Vearing 
to  break  it  to  her?  put  the  idea  into  her  head?" 

Georgina  reflected.     "I — I  wonder." 

' '  She  goes  a  good  deal  to  the  Vicarage.  Bather 
intimate  there,  isn't  she?" 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  167 

"Mrs.  Vearing  has  been  most  kind,  but  I  don't 
know  that  one  could  exactly  call  it  an  intimacy. 
Miss  Kammidge's  real  intimacy  seems  to  be  with 
Miss  Pottlebury — which  is  extraordinary.  What 
they  can  have  in  common  .  .  .  However,  it's  not 
my  business." 

1 l Miss  Pottlebury  has  a  brother." 

"I  believe  she  has.  I've  never  seen  him;  he 
doesn't  live  at  home,  I  think." 

"No,  but  .  .  ." 

Eayke  stopped.  He  knew  nothing  about  the 
Ludovic  and  Patricia  romance,  and  his  implied 
suggestion  was  based  on  general  principles.  If 
Georgina  was  unaware  that  there  was  anything 
more  than  an  acquaintance  between  Miss  Kim- 
midge  and  Mr.  Pottlebury,  there  probably  was  not 
anything;  and  it  was  evident  that  Georgina  knew 
nothing. 

"In  any  case,"  she  said,  "I  couldn't  take  Miss 
Pottlebury  into  my  confidence,  or  her  brother.  As 
for  Mrs.  Vearing  ..."  Again  she  reflected. 

"Well,  think  it  over,"  Eayke  said,  getting  up. 
"She  might  be  able  to  oil  the  wheels." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Georgina,  thinking  over  Rayke's  suggestion, 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a  good  one ;  be- 
sides, it  was  in  the  natural  sequence  of  things  that, 
having  consulted  Dr.  Eayke,  she  should  proceed  to 


168  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

unbosom  herself  to  Mrs.  Vearing;  consultation 
with  the  one  almost  necessitated  confidential  con- 
versation with  the  other.  It  was  usual,  too,  that 
whereas  the  consultation  took  place  at  the  Beeches 
the  confidence  was  made  at  the  Vicarage;  and  ac- 
cordingly Mrs.  Bonham  wrote  to  Mrs.  Vearing  and 
11  proposed  herself"  for  tea  and  a  talk. 

Mrs.  Vearing  welcomed  the  proposal. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,"  she  wrote,  "you  know 
how  delighted  I  always  am  to  see  you,  and  how 
charmed  I  am  if  my  sympathy  can  give  you  any 
little  aid  in  the  many  problems  you  have,  as  darling 
Dome's  mother,  to  consider." 

Georgina,  in  her  note,  had  hinted  that  a  difficulty 
in  regard  to  Dorrie  loomed  on  the  horizon,  and 
Mrs.  Vearing  was  all  agog  to  know  what  the  diffi- 
culty could  be.  Could  it,  inquired  intuition — or  a 
guilty  conscience — be  anything  to  do  with  Patricia 
and  Ludovic?  Had  dear,  dearest  Mrs.  Bonham 
found  out  that  there  was  something  between  them 
and  become  troubled  at  the  idea  of  losing  Patricia  ? 
And  did  she  suspect  the  part  that  Mrs.  Vearing 
had  played?  Was  she  coming  to  reproach  her? 

Alicia  was  so  torn  and  rent  by  the  possibilities 
contingent  upon  Mrs.  Bonham 's  visit,  and  so 
wrought  upon  Adam  by  her  conjectures,  that 
Adam  did  the  rarest  thing  in  their  world  and 
turned  upon  her.  He  turned  in  a  most  unclergy- 
manlike  way  and  said  why  the  dickens  should  Mrs. 
Bonham  mind  if  little  Patricia  did  marry?  Mrs. 
Bonham  wasn't  the  only  person  in  the  world.  For 
all  he  cared  and  for  all  Alicia  should  care  if  she 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  169 

had  an  ounce  of  sense,  Mrs.  Bonham  might  go 
to  ...  He  pulled  himself  up  and  ended  with 
"Nova  Scotia." 

It  was  dreadful  to  Mrs.  Vearing  to  hear  him, 
because  she  knew  that  Nova  Scotia  was  a  synonym 
and  a  concession  to  his  cloth;  and  the  idea  of  a 
breach  between  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  and  darling 
Adam  was  worse  even  than  bearing  the  brunt  of 
Mrs.  Bonham 's  anger.  The  result  was  that  she 
did  her  best  to  stroke  down  Adam,  and  that  in  the 
interval  which  elapsed  between  Adam's  outburst 
and  Mrs.  Bonham 's  arrival  she  kept  her  fears  to 
herself. 

She  strove  to  fortify  her  courage  by  telling  her- 
self that  Adam  was  right.  Why  shouldn't  Pa- 
tricia marry?  After  all,  she  couldn't  be  Dome's 
nursery  governess  all  her  life ;  and  men — well,  she 
who  will  not  when  she  may  .  .  . 

But  Mrs.  Vearing  was  very  nervous  all  the  same 
as  she  sat  and  waited  for  dear  Mrs.  Bonham.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  the  coup  de  vent  part  of 
her  hair  seemed  to  have  an  extra  coup.  Adam, 
looking  in  upon  his  way  to  smoke  a  pipe  in  his 
study,  thought  she  looked  quite  pretty  and  knew 
she  was  quite  frightened,  and  went  on  his  way 
with  his  heart  full  of  Nova  Scotia. 

And  as  he  banged  the  door  of  his  study,  Mrs. 
Bonham  rang  the  front-door  bell,  and  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing, hearing  both  the  bang  and  the  bell,  started 
from  her  chair  and  said :  "  Oh  dear ! ' ' 


170  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

CHAPTER  IX 

Mrs.  Bonham  sailed  in  smiling  and  gracious. 
She  had  quite  decided  that  Rayke's  way  was  the 
best  way  out  of  her  difficulty,  and  that  to  Mrs. 
Vearing  should  be  entrusted  the  disagreeable  task 
of  preparing  Miss  Kimmidge's  mind  for  dismis- 
sal. Consequently  she  was  as  near  to  a  supplica- 
tory attitude  as  it  was  possible  for  Mrs.  Bonham 
ever  to  be,  and  had  Mrs.  Vearing  known  of  her 
friend's  inner  mood  she  would  have  breathed  not 
only  freely,  but  with  gasps  of  joy  and  thankful- 
ness. But  Mrs.  Vearing  did  not  know,  and  read- 
ing into  Mrs.  Bonham 's  demeanour  a  condemna- 
tion of  her  own  misdemeanour,  she  construed  the 
ingratiating  smile  as  one  of  triumphant  detection. 

"So  pleased  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 
"Will  you  take  off  anything — your  coat?  I  dare- 
say you've  got  warm  walking:  it's  rather  mild, 
isn't  it,  for  October?  But  I  had  a  fire  because  I 
know  you  are  susceptible  and  don 't  like  the  damp. 
No  more  does  Adam.  And  it  is  rather  damp, 
though  mild,  as  I  said,  for  the  time  of  year. 
Though  walking,  I  daresay  ..." 

Mrs.  Vearing  stumbled  on  in  repetition  till 
Georgina  interrupted  her. 

"Thank  you,  I  am  not  at  all  warm  and  should 
like  to  sit  near  the  fire.  How  kind  of  you  to  have 
one ! ' ' 

"Oh,  not  at  all.    This  chair  I  think  you  like." 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  171 

* '  Any  chair, ' '  said  Georgina.  * '  All  your  chairs 
are  comfortable.*' 

"If  she  does  it  in  a  heaping  coals  of  fire  sort  of 
way,"  thought  Mrs.  Vearing,  "I  shall  cry,  I  know 
I  shall." 

She  sat  down  opposite  the  fire  and  at  right 
angles  to  Mrs.  Bonham :  it  was  better  than  meeting 
her  gaze  full  face.  She  began  nervously  to  talk 
about  local  topics.  Had  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  heard 
that  Mrs.  Charles  Marsden  was  laid  up  with 
bronchitis?  Or  of  the  quarrel  between  Miss  Pitt 
and  Mrs.  Markham?  Or  that  Miss  Truefitt  was 
going  to  have  an  aunt  to  live  with  her  during  the 
winter?  She  kept  carefully  away  from  Miss 
Pottlebury. 

Mrs.  Bonham  knew  about  the  bronchitis  but  not 
about  the  quarrel:  she  was  obviously  quite  unin- 
terested in  Miss  Truefitt 's  aunt.  She  was,  in 
truth,  somewhat  irritated  by  Mrs.  Vearing 's 
prattle:  she  had  come  on  a  definite  mission  and 
it  was  tiresome  to  be  confronted  with  the  aunts 
and  quarrels  of  inferior  persons.  She  wanted  to 
be  as  pleasant  as  possible,  but  she  was  not  nervous 
as  was  Mrs.  Vearing,  and  could  not  understand 
Mrs.  Vearing 's  deprecating  volubility.  For  one 
thing  she  was  naturally  more  courageous  than 
Alicia,  and  for  another,  it  is  less  embarrassing  to 
ask  a  person  a  favour  than  to  be  convicted  of  a 
crime;  and  to  Alicia,  face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham, the  backing  of  Miss  Kimmidge's  romance 
appeared  in  the  light  of  a  crime. 


172  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I  have  come,"  said  Georgina,  when  lack  of 
breath  and  news  brought  Mrs.  Vearing  to  a  pause, 
"to  speak  to  you  about  something  which  is  giving 
me  a  good  deal  of  trouble." 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 

"Which  has  been  troubling  me  for  some  time 
past." 

"Indeed?" 

"The  anxieties  which  weigh  heaviest  with  me 
are,  as  you  know,  always  connected  with  Dorrie. ' ' 

"I  do  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "yes,  in- 
deed. ' '  To  herself  she  said :  "It  is  that. ' ' 

"It's  about  Miss  Kimmidge,"  Georgina  went 
on. 

"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing, 
tremulously,  "I  knew  it  was." 

Georgina  smiled.  "I  am  hardly  surprised  at 
your  guessing." 

"No,  no,"  murmured  Mrs.  Vearing,  "of  course 
not." 

"And  it  makes  what  I  have  come  to  say  the 
easier." 

"Pray  say  anything — everything — all  you  feel. 
I — I  deserve  it,"  Mrs.  Vearing  said  in  little  gasps. 

Georgina 's  glance  held  a  certain  disapproval. 
"I  do  wish  she  wouldn't  be  so  emotional,"  she 
was  thinking. 

"You  certainly  do,"  she  said  aloud. 

"I  assure  you  ..."  Mrs.  Vearing  began,  but 
Georgina  went  calmly  on. 

"You  deserve  my  full  confidence,"  she  said, 
"and  you  shall  have  it — as  always." 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  173 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Vearing.  "It  is  going  to  be 
coals  of  fire, ' '  she  thought. 

"I've  been  a  good  deal  worried  about  Miss  Kim- 
midge.  Of  course  I  like  her  very  much;  she  is 
generally  liked,  I  believe,  in  Stottleham." 

' l  Oh  yes ;  very  much  liked. ' ' 

"She  has  proved  a  most  suitable  person,"  Geor- 
gina  paused.  '  *  Hitherto, ' '  she  added. 

"She's  young  .  .  .  you  must  remember  .  .  . 
it's  only  natural  ..."  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 

"I  am  hardly  surprised  at  your  standing  up 
for  her;  but  I  hope  you  will  consider  my  posi- 
tion." 

"Of  course,  of  course,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 
You  know  I  would  do  that. ' ' 

"I  know  she's  young  and  I  have  made  every 
allowance.  But  Dorrie,  you  see,  is  getting  older 
every  day." 

"Dorrie?"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 

"Yes,  of  course,  Dorrie;  you  know  she  comes 
first.  And  of  course  she  needs  more." 

"More?"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  still  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"More,  yes,"  said  Georgina  with  impatience. 
"Of  course  she  needs  more.  A  nursery  governess 
suitable  for  a  child  of  seven  is  hardly  up  to  a  child 
of  twelve.  Surely  you  see  that ! ' ' 

"Oh  yes,  I — yes,  of  course  I  see.  You  mean 
then,  dear  Mrs.  Bonham" — a  sudden  sunshine 
flooded  the  horizon  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's  inner  vision 
— * '  do  you  mean  that  you  consider  that  Dorrie  has 
outgrown  Miss  Kimmidge?" 


174  THE  THUNDEEBOLT 

1 1  Certainly  that  is  what  I  mean ;  just  as  she  out- 
grew Nurse.  And  certainly  I  thought  you  would 
agree  with  me." 

"Oh,  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "most  sincerely 
I  do." 

"And  that  is  what  I  came  to  talk  to  you  about, 
to  consult — confide — to — indeed  to  ask  your  help. ' ' 

"Anything  I  can  do  .  .  ."  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 
The  sunshine  was  almost  dazzling. 

"I  am  in  a  very  trying  position,"  Georgina 
went  on.  "The  difficulty  of  getting  rid  of  Miss 
Kimmidge,  of  telling  her  to  go  .  .  . " 

"I  don't  know  that  you  need  find  it  so  very 
difficult." 

"You  don't  think  she  ought  to  be  so  very  much 
upset?  Of  course  if  she  were  reasonable.  .  .  . 
But  you  remember  when  Hannah  had  to  stop  being 
nurse  .  .  .  and  really  to  hear  people  talk,  you 
would  think  Miss  Kimmidge  was  a  fixture. 
Which  is  absurd. ' ' 

"Quite  absurd.  But  I  doubt  if  Miss  Kimmidge 
thinks  so." 

1 '  Thinks  it  absurd ?  No,  of  course  she  wouldn't. 
That's  what's  so " 

"No,  I  mean  that  I  doubt  whether  Miss  Kim- 
midge considers  herself  a  fixture. ' ' 

"Really?    You  don't  think Of  course  she 

has  a  good  deal  of  common  sense,  but  ..." 

Georgina  paused,  and  Mrs.  Vearing  said  noth- 
ing. She  was  longing  to  tell  her  news,  but  felt 
that  she  must  not  be  too  sudden :  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  did  not  like  suddenness. 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  175 

"You  know  her  in  a  way  better  than  I  do," 
Georgina  said  presently,  "more  unofficially.  You 
have  been  so  very  kind  in  having  her  here." 

"Oh  no.  And  she  has  been  less  here  than  at 
Miss  Pottlebury 's." 

"Oh,  Miss  Pottlebury!"  Georgina's  tone 
waved  Miss  Pottlebury  aside.  "What  I  was  go- 
ing to  say,  to  ask  you  indeed,  as  a  personal  favour, 
was  whether  you  could  manage  to  give  Miss  Kim- 
midge  a  hint — break  it  to  her,  before  I  say  any- 
thing." 

"Quite  easily,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 

"You  really  don't  mind?"  Georgina  spoke  in 
astonishment. 

"Not  at  all.  You  see  the  Pottlebury  situa- 
tion .  .  ." 

"Pottlebury?  Whatever  has  Miss  Pottlebury 
got  to  do  with  it?  She  has  no  children  to  edu- 
cate. ' ' 

"No,  but  she  has  a  brother." 

Kayke  had  made  the  same  statement,  but  Geor- 
gina had  passed  it  by:  she  could  not  pass  it  by  as 
made  by  Mrs.  Vearing. 

"A  brother!  But  Miss  Pottlebury  ...  a 
brother  of  Miss  Pottlebury 's  must  be  a — a ' 

"He  is  not,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "the  least  like 
Miss  Pottlebury." 

"You  don't  mean  .  .  .?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

« '  But  a  brother  of  Miss  Pottlebury 's !  He  must 
be  a  ...  he  can't  be  a  .  .  ." 

"I  assure  you  he  is  quite  presentable." 


176  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"You've  seen  him  then?" 

"Oh  yes— often." 

"/  never  have;  I  barely  knew  of  his  existence." 

"As  the  Vicar's  wife  ..."  said  Mrs.  Year- 
ing. 

' '  Oh  yes,  of  course.  But  I  supposed  he  lived  in 
London. ' ' 

"He  does,  but  he  comes  down  pretty  fre- 
quently. ' ' 

"So  that  is  the  attraction  at  Miss  Pottlebury's. 
And  you  say  he 's  really  presentable  ? ' ' 

"Quite;  and  very  nice.  I  quite  enjoy  a  chat 
with  him,  and  so  does  Adam." 

"Very  odd  that  you  never  spoke  of  him  be- 
fore." ' 

Mrs.  Vearing  coloured.  "You  see  he  met  Miss 
Kimmidge  here,  and  I  didn't  know — wasn't  sure, 
dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  whether  you  would  approve." 

"Approve?  I?  Whatever  had  it  got  to  do 
with  me  ? ' ' 

"I "  Mrs.  Vearing 's  smile  was  tremulous. 

"I  wasn't  sure — I  thought  Miss  Kimmidge  suited 
you  so  well,  and  that  you  would  be — might  be — an- 
noyed if  she — deserted  you." 

4 '  Annoyed  ?  I  am  delighted. ' '  Georgina's  face 
and  voice  testified  to  the  genuineness  of  her 
speech. 

'  *  Oh,  what  a  relief ! ' '  Mrs.  Vearing 's  voice  was 
shaky ;  she  almost  wept  after  all,  though  the  cause 
of  her  emotion  was  far  from  what  she  had  antici- 
pated. "I  was  afraid  you  would  think,  in  en- 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  177 

couraging  the  courtship,  I  had  played  the  part — 
had  been  disloyal  to  you.'* 

"My  dear  friend!"  said  Mrs.  Bonham,  "you 
have  done  me  one  of  the  best  turns  you  have  ever 
done.  I  am  most  grateful  to  you." 

During  tea  it  was  explained  to  Georgina  that 
there  was  as  yet  no  positive  engagement ;  an  under- 
standing— of  that  Mrs.  Vearing  was  sure,  but 
nothing  was  settled.  But  that  it  soon  would  be 
settled  she  had  no  doubt. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  as  Georgina  rose  to  go, 
"I  shall  hurry  it  on." 

"Do!"  said  Georgina. 

At  the  door  Mrs.  Vearing,  pressing  Georgina 's 
hand,  said:  "Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  you  have  made 
me  so  happy." 

But  Mrs.  Bonham  was  to  make  her  happier  still. 
Smiling  her  most  gracious  smile  she  said : 

"Ours  has  been  a  long  and  close  friendship. 
Will  you  not  call  me  Georgina?" 


CHAPTER  X 

"Oh,  Adam!" 

Mrs.  Vearing  burst  into  the  Vicar's  study, 
flushed  and  tearful.  The  Vicar,  struggling  with 
the  parable  of  the  unjust  steward,  looked  up  from 
a  manuscript  chiefly  consisting  of  deletions. 

"My  dear  Alicia,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  Adam,  she— she  ..." 


178  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"You  didn't  come  to  blows,  I  hope.  Your 
hair  .  .  ." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing.  "It's  all  right — 
perfectly  right — more  than  right.  And  she — dear 
Mrs.  Bonham — has  asked  me  to  call  her  Geor- 
gina." 

'  *  My  word ! ' '  said  the  Vicar. 

"Isn't  it  sweet  of  her?" 

1 '  As  sugar, ' '  agreed  the  Vicar. 

"Oh,  Adam,  don't  laugh  at  me!  You 
know  ..." 

"Better  laugh  than  cry — which  you  seem  on  the 
brink  of  doing." 

Mrs.  Vearing  was  indeed  at  that  point  of  nerv- 
ous tension  where  tears  and  laughter  meet ;  it  was 
touch  and  go  which  would  triumph.  She  swal- 
lowed a  sob  and  laughed. 

"  It 's  the  reaction, ' '  she  said, ' '  the  relief. ' '  She 
sat  down  by  the  Vicar's  side.  "To  think  we  need 
never  have  worried  at  all ! " 

"I  don't  know  that  I  did  an  immense  amount 
of  worrying — as  regards  Mrs.  Bonham." 

"Dear  Georgina  is  delighted — simply  delighted 
about  Miss  Kimmidge  and  Ludovic  Pottlebury." 

"So  much  the  better  for  dear  Georgina." 

' '  And  for  me ;  and  for  Patricia.  It 's  all  worked 
out  too  delightfully  well.  If  you  would  only  stop 
being  sarcastic  and  show  a  little  sympathy,  I  would 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

"I'm  full  of  sympathy;  only  my  sermon  .  .  . 
To-day's  Friday,  and  I  haven't  a  bit  got  the  hang 
of  it." 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  179 

"Oh,  preach  an  old  one;  nobody  will  remember. 
There's  a  fire  in  the  drawing-room — a  lovely  fire.'* 

The  Vicar  looked  at  his  manuscript.  There  was 
little  of  what  he  had  written  that  he  had  not 
scratched  out,  and  the  unjust  steward  bristled  with 
difficulties. 

"Any  tea  left?"  he  asked. 

"Heaps — no,  I  don't  know  that  there  is,  but 
I'll  have  some  fresh  made." 

"May  I  smoke  in  the  drawing-room?" 

"Ye-yes."  Adam  was  always  nicer  to  talk  to 
when  he  was  smoking,  Mrs.  Vearing  reflected. 
"Oh  yes,  certainly,"  she  said. 

So  Adam,  cosy  by  the  drawing-room  fire,  stimu- 
lated by  tea  and  soothed  by  his  pipe,  listened  with 
full  attention  to  Alicia 's  account  of  the  turn  things 
had  taken.  It  was  really  much  more  interesting 
than  his  sermon,  and  he  was  moreover  truly  de- 
lighted that  the  course  of  Miss  Kimmidge's  love 
should  cause  no  hitch  between  his  wife  and  Mrs. 
Bonham. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  meanwhile,  had  gone  on  her  way 
rejoicing.  She  had  always  thought  Miss  Kim- 
midge  nice ;  she  thought  her  now  nicer  than  ever. 
She  did  not  say  to  herself  in  so  many  words  that 
Miss  Kimmidge  had  shown  a  becoming  considera- 
tion by  falling  in  love  in  the  nick  of  time,  but 
that  was  what  she  felt;  and  she  arrived  at  the 
Beeches  in  a  frame  of  mind  which  radiated  peace 
to  all  men,  and  especially  to  Miss  Kimmidge  and 
Mr.  Pottlebury.  She  was  disposed  to  take  Mr. 
Pottlebury  at  Mrs.  Vearing 's  valuation.  Miss 


180  THE  THUNDEEBOLT 

Kimmidge  was  so  sensible  that  she  would  not  be 
likely  to  make  an  unwise  choice :  and  though  Miss 
Pottlebury's  brother  was  probably  not  attractive, 
no  doubt  he  had  solid  qualities,  and  Miss  Kim- 
midge  was  wise  enough  to  base  her  affections  on 
esteem  rather  than  romance. 

Meeting  Miss  Kimmidge  in  the  hall,  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  smiled  at  her  with  supreme  approbation. 
She  had  not  smiled  much  at  Miss  Kimmidge  for 
some  time  past.  Disliking  the  task  of  dismissing 
her,  disliking  still  more -the  task  of  telling  Dorrie 
of  the  dismissal,  she  had  vented  her  dislike  in  cold- 
ness to  Miss  Kimmidge.  But  now  that  it  was  Miss 
Kimmidge  who  was  to  take  the  initiative,  "now," 
she  might  have  said, 

"is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 
Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of" — Pottlebury. 

Georgina's  only  part  was  to  be  gracious;  she 
began  at  once  to  play  it. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Miss  Kimmidge  was  pleased  at  her  return  to 
favour,  but  was  not  lifted  by  it  to  the  apex  of  con- 
tent. She  had  noted  Mrs.  Bonham's  coldness, 
had  been  puzzled  by  it  and  a  little  disconcerted; 
but  it  had  not  positively  depressed  her.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  her  that  Mrs.  Bonham  might  be 
annoyed  at  her  marrying,  and  had  such  an  idea 
presented  itself,  she,  unlike  Mrs.  Vearing,  would 
not  have  been  seriously  disturbed.  She  liked  Mrs. 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  181 

Bonham  very  much ;  but  not  to  the  point  of  being 
upset  by  her  disapproval  where  Ludovic  was  con- 
cerned. Only  Ludovic,  in  that  connection,  could 
upset  her,  only  Ludovic  could  raise  her  to  the 
heaven  of  happiness  or  depress  her  to  the  verge 
of  despair:  she  was  indeed  so  much  absorbed  by 
the  thought  of  Ludovic,  so  rapt  by  hope  or  dulled 
by  doubt,  that  she  could  not  be  deeply  affected 
by  a  mere  Mrs.  Bonham. 

And  Ludovic,  as  she  confided  to  Hannah,  "had 
not  spoken":  the  hub  of  her  universe  consisted 
in  the  question:  Would  he  speak? 

Hannah  was  still  Miss  Kimmidge's  only  con- 
fidante ;  the  only  one,  that  is  to  say,  to  whom  her 
confidences  were  explicit.  In  Mrs.  Vearing  she 
confided  only  by  hints,  by  unspoken  admissions; 
in  Miss  Pottlebury,  in  intention,  though  not  always 
in  effect,  not  at  all.  But  Hannah  had  always  -been 
a  dear  old  thing,  a  simple  old  thing  and  a  safe  old 
thing ;  one  who  listened  without  giving  advice,  and 
whose  sympathy  was  invariably  tinctured  with 
hope;  and  to  Hannah,  accordingly,  Miss  Kim- 
midge  betrayed  her  doubts  as  well  as  her  desires. 

Hannah,  deeply  impressed  by  the  trust  reposed 
in  her,  and  thrilled  by  the  romance  of  the  situa- 
tion, preserved  an  unswerving  loyalty  and  an  un- 
failing interest.  What  she  called  true  love  was 
for  Hannah  a  preponderating  factor  in  life.  Her 
own  young  man  had  died ;  but  he  had  risen  again 
to  a  certain  extent  in  Miss  Kimmidge  's ;  and  next 
to  the  romance  she  had  dreamed  of  for  Dorrie 
— a  far-off  next,  but  the  only  one  allowed  within 


182  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

measurable  approach — her  sympathy  and  hopes 
were  centred  on  the  romance  of  Miss  Kimmidge. 

So  it  was  a  great  day  for  Hannah  when,  taking 
hot  water  as  usual  to  Miss  .Patricia,  she  found 
Miss  Patricia  in  a  pink  dressing-gown  with  cheeks 
to  match,  and  eyes — to  quote  Hannah — flashing 
like  diamonds. 

' '  Oh,  Hannah,  what  do  you  think  I ' ' 

What  Hannah  thought  was  that  he  had  spoken ; 
but  she  was  not  going  to  say  so.  Supposing  he 
hadn't?  It  was  too  great  a  risk.  So  pausing, 
can  in  hand,  she  said:  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know, 
Miss." 

"But  guess,  Hannah,  guess!" 

"I  couldn't,  Miss  Patricia.  I  never  was  a  hand 
at  guessing." 

"At  last,  at  last — you  know  what  I've  been -wait- 
ing for — hoping  for.  Oh,  Hannah,  surely  ..." 

"You  don't  mean-  .  .  .?"  Hannah  paused. 

"I  do,  of  course  I  do.  What  else?  He's 
spoken. ' ' 

Hannah  put  down  the  can.    "Never,  Miss." 

"I  began  to  think,"  said  Miss  Kimmidge,  laugh- 
ing, "that  it  was  going  to  be  never.  But  it  isn't; 
it 's  for  ever  and  ever ;  and  I  'm  so — I  don 't  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  cry." 

"I  should  laugh,  Miss,  if  I  was  you." 

"It  was  this  afternoon.  He's  down,  you  know, 
for  the  week-end.  He  asked  to  see  me  home,  and 
on  the  way  he — he  ..." 

"He  told  his  love,  I  suppose,  Miss  Patricia." 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  183 


"Yes,  he  did.    And  such  love!" 

"I  never,"  said  Hannah. 

"I'm  not   worthy  of   it.    I  can't  think- 


Miss  Kimmidge  turned  and  looked  in  the  glass. — 
"I'm  sure  I  can't  think, what  he  sees  in  me." 

"He  sees  his  own  true  love,  Miss,  that's  what  he 
sees." 

"But  he  thinks  me  beautiful,  Hannah;  and  I 
know  I'm  not." 

"Lovers  carries  beauty  in  their  eyes,  Miss 
Patricia.  My  young  man  was  just  the  same,  and 
Mother  drilled  it  into  me  from  a  child  that  I  wasn't 
nothing  to  look  at." 

"I  don't  care  what  I  am,  so  long  as  he  admires 
me." 

"That's  right,  Miss." 

"You  haven't  congratulated  me,  Hannah." 

"I  congratulate- you,  Miss  Patricia,  that  I  do." 

' '  Thank  you  ever  so  much.  You  've  always  been 
perfectly  sweet,  and  helped  me  no  end.  I  don't 
really  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you. ' ' 

"And  Miss  Dorrie,  Miss?  That's  the  only 
thing.  She  ..." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I  was  to  go  in  any  case. 
Mrs.  Vearing  gave  me  the  tip.  Mrs.  Bonham 
thinks  she's  getting  beyond  me." 

"I  suppose  she'll  keep  on  getting  beyond — till 

her  young "  Hannah  paused,  arrested  by  the 

limitations  of  language.  Young  man  was  an  in- 
sult as  applied  to  Dorrie 's  prince;  gentleman  was 
inadequate.  "Till  her  fate  comes  along,"  she 


184  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

said.  "It's  the  only  one  she  won't  get  be- 
yond. ' ' 

As  Hannah  approached  the  door,  Miss  Kim- 
midge  went  after  her. 

* '  Do  you  know  why  he  didn  't  speak  before  1  A 
most  extraordinary  reason,  but  it  shows  his 
humility. ' ' 

"I  couldn't  say,  Mi&s." 

"He  was  afraid — of  me — afraid  I  didn't  care." 

"I  never!"  said  Hannah. 

She  went  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs  to  her 
bedroom.  She  felt  an  attack  of  toothache  begin- 
ning, and  she  wanted  to  apply  some  of  the  mixture 
which,  years  ago,  had  provided  Mrs.  Bonham  with 
an  additional  excuse  for  changing  her  from  Nurse 
to  Hannah.  But  chiefly  she  wanted  to  be  alone 
and  think.  Was  there  any  further  transformation 
in  store  for  her?  The  ache  in  her  tooth  was  as 
nothing  to  the  ache  at  her  heart,  caused  by  such  a 
possibility. 

She  felt  she  could  not  go  downstairs  again  just 
yet.  She  was  very  glad  for  Miss  Kimmidge,  but 
she  was  miserable  at  the  idea  of  further  changes 
at  the  Beeches.  What  might  it  not  mean?  Yet, 
her  thought  ran  on,  so  discreet  had  she  been, 
so  strictly  had  she  schooled  herself  to  be,  out- 
wardly at  any  rate,  entirely  housemaid  and  desti- 
tute of  any  trace  of  nurse,  that  she  could  not  really 
believe  there  was  any- risk  of  her  being  sent  away 
in  the  wake  of  Miss  Kimmidge.  Thus  she  com- 
forted herself.  Miss  Dorrie  might  be  sent  to 
school;  that  was  the  worst  that  would  happen. 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  185 

Bad;  but  not  the  worst  that  might  happen;  and 
there  would  be  the  holidays. 

Her  thoughts  returned  to  Miss  Patricia,  and 
she  was  glad ;  then  travelled  back  to  her  own  young 
man,  and  she  was  sad;  and  then  leapt  forward  to 
Dorrie's  wooing  and  wedding.  Toothache  was 
forgotten  as  she  saw  Dorrie  in  the  whitest  and 
shiniest  of  satins,  half  covered  with  diamonds  and 
with  pearls,  wreathed  with  flowers,  dim  behind  the 
magnificence  of  her  lace  veil.  She  saw  her  with 
a  prince  at  her  feet,  a  palace  as  her  home,  a  throne 
as  her  seat.  And  she  saw  herself  in  the  palace 
with  a  feather  brush  and  a  duster,  removing  the 
last  speck  of  dust  from  Dorrie's  throne. 


Mrs.  Bonham,  everybody  agreed,  behaved  with 
the  utmost  munificence  in  the  matter  of  Miss  Kim- 
midge's  wedding  present. 

She  gave  her  a  silver  tea  service.  Not  plated, 
but  silver,  solid,  real. 

It  was  just  like  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  of  course, 
to  be  so  generous,  so  lavish,  yet  Stottleham  almost 
gasped  at  this  latest  demonstration  of  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  likeness  to  herself.  Even  Miss  Truefitt  was 
impressed,  and  received  the  news  without  a  sniff. 
Who  could  sniff  at  a  silver  tea  service?  It  was 
outside  the  category  of  things  sniff  able;  it  was 
a  proof  of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 's  dearness,  costly, 
handsome,  indisputable ;  Mrss  Truefitt  bowed  her 


186  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

head  and  added  an  appreciative  murmur  to  the 
chorus  of  praise. 

Miss  Kimmidge  herself  was  overwhelmed,  or, 
as  she  expressed  it  to  Hannah,  dumbfounded. 
She  had  expected,  when  Mrs.  Bonham  had  asked 
her  if  she  would  like  some  silver,  perhaps  a  cream- 
jug  or  a  pair  of  salt-cellars,  at  most  a  teapot, 
and  that  a  small  one.  And  the  teapot  was  large 
— the  Queen  Anne  pattern — and  there  was  a  cream- 
jug  big  enough  for  milk,  and  a  sugar-basin;  and 
a  kettle ! 

"Adam,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  " there 's  a  kettle 
as  well.  Just  fancy!" 

"Isn't  it  usual,"  asked  Adam,  "to  have  a 
kettle!" 

"Not  unusual,  but  they're  often  given  without. 
What  I  mean  is,  isn't  it  handsome  of  dear  Geor- 
gina?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Adam,  and  Mrs.  Vearing 
called  him  cold. 

"I  hear,"  said  Mrs.  Markham  to  Miss  Ansell, 
"that  there's  a  kettle." 

"Really?    As  weU! " 

"Yes.    Wonderfully  generous,  isn't  it!" 

"It  comes,  I  am  informed — the  tea  service,  I 
mean — from  Bond  Street, ' '  said  Mrs.  Pitt.  * '  Mrs. 
Bonham  went  up  to  London  for  the  day  to  choose 
it." 

"Not  for  the  day;  she  stayed  all  night,"  cor- 
rected Miss  Ansell. 

"Well,  I  was  told  that  she  came  back  by  the 
5.20." 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  187 

"It  was  Regent  Street,  not  Bond  Street,"  said 
Mrs.  Markham. 

"I  heard  the  Haymarket,"  said  Miss  Ansell. 

"My  informant,"  said  Mrs.  Pitt,  "was  Miss 
Pottlebury." 

Miss  Pottlebury,  since  the  engagement,  had  gone 
up  top  of  the  second  class  in  Stottleham;  and 
Miss  Pottlebury  immensely  enjoyed  the  position. 
She  had  always  craved  prominence,  and  now,  as 
the  sister  of  the  man  who  was  engaged  to  Mrs. 
Bonham's  governess,  she  had  a  vogue  which 
verged  on  notoriety.  She  stood,  moreover,  on  the 
fringe  of  Mrs.  Bonham's  set.  She  had  actually 
been  to  tea  at  the  Beeches,  not  in  connection  with 
anything  religious,  but  in  company  with  her 
brother  in  a  fashion  purely  social.  She  had  not 
stood  in  the  dining-room,  cup  in  hand  and  jostled 
by  co-workers  of  philanthropic  intent :  she  had  sat 
in  the  drawing-room,  one  of  a  circle  so  select  as  to 
include  only  herself,  Ludovic,  Patricia,  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  and  her  sweet  little  girl. 

Miss  Pottlebury  referred  casually  but  constantly 
to  the  episode. 

"At  Mrs.  Bbnham's  the  other  day,  we  had  a 
choice  of  China  or  Indian  tea." 

"When  I  was  at  Mrs.  Bonham's  lately  ..." 

"We  were  discussing  when  I  was  at  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's .  .  ." 

And  so  on. 

The  rest  of  the  class  were  filled  with  awe  and 
envy,  combined  with  a  tendency  to  consider  that 
Miss  Pottlebury  was  putting  on  really  too  much 


188  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

side.  Miss  Truefitt,  who  had  not  found  it  in  her- 
self to  sniff  at  the  tea  service,  sniffed  openly  at 
the  tea. 

*  *  What 's  a  cup  of  tea  ? ' '  she  demanded.  * '  It 's 
not  life  everlasting  after  all,  and  that's  what  any- 
one would  suppose,  to  hear  Miss  Pottlebury." 

The  second  class  was  not  quite  pleased  with 
the  tone  of  Miss  Truefitt 's  criticism,  but  the  con- 
demnation of  Miss  Pottlebury 's  attitude  found  an 
echo  in  almost  every  heart.  Besides,  who  knew? 
It  was  all  very  well  to  bridge  the  gulf  which 
divided  Mrs.  Bonham's  set  from  Miss  Pottle- 
bury 's.  The  question  was,  was  the  bridge  a  fixed 
one  or  a  drawbridge?  If  a  drawbridge,  would 
Mrs.  Bonham,  after  the  wedding,  draw  it  ?  And  if 
it  were  drawn,  on  which  side  of  the  gulf  would 
Miss  Pottlebury  find  herself? 

"It  doesn't  do  to  crow  before  you've  hatched 
your  eggs,"  said  Miss  Ansell  with  acrimonious 
disregard  of  fowl-yard  facts ;  but  the  personal  ap- 
plication of  her  remark  was  accepted  in  the  spirit 
in  which  it  was  offered.  Miss  Pottlebury,  for  the 
purposes  of  the  argument,  was  accredited  with  bi- 
sexual behaviour,  and  it  was  agreed  that  she  had 
crowed  like  a  cock  before  she  had  hatched  her  eggs 
like  a  hen. 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  189 


CHAPTER  XIII 

It  was  unfortunate  that  Miss  Kimmidge's  wed- 
ding could  not  take  place  in  Stottleham,  and 
Stottleham  indeed  was  almost  persuaded  that  it 
had,  on  that  account,  a  grievance.  Yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  Stottleham  would  have  been  shocked 
had  the  marriage  been  from  any  house  but  the 
house  of  Miss  Kimmidge's  mother.  If  only  Mrs. 
Kimmidge  could  have  removed  from  Brixbury  to 
Stottleham  and  satisfied  both  domestic  convention 
and  neighbourly  interest,  Stottleham  would  have 
touched  the  ideal.  But  the  ideal  was  imprac- 
ticable; Stottleham,  with  its  usual  good  sense, 
recognized  that  fact,  and  contented  itself  with  the 
knowledge  that  Miss  Kimmidge  would  be  married 
in  a  fashion  consonant  with  custom. 

Georgina,  for  her  part,  had  never  even  the  ink- 
ling of  a  desire  that  Miss  Kimmidge  should  be 
married  anywhere  but  at  Brixbury.  She  had  no 
intention  of  going  to  Miss  Kimmidge's  wedding, 
and  a  hint,  timorous  and  tentative  on  the  part  of 
Miss  Kimmidge,  as  to  Dorrie  being  a  bridesmaid, 
was  crushed  before  it  could  develop  into  a  re- 
quest. Mrs.  Bonham  was  quite  willing  to  give 
Miss  Kimmidge  a  silver  tea  service,  but  that  was 
a  very  different  thing  from  going  to  her  wed- 
ding; nor  did  Mrs.  Bonham  wish  it  to  be  said  later 
on  when  Dorrie  was  grown  up,  that  Miss  Bonham 
had  been  bridesmaid  to  Mrs.  Ludovic  Pottlebury. 

The  distance  from  Brixbury  was  therefore  con- 


190  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

venient;  it  precluded  the  idea  not  only  of  Mrs. 
Bonham 's  presence  at  the  wedding,  but  even  of  her 
being  invited  to  it.  Now  Miss  Kimmidge,  em- 
boldened by  the  tea  service,  had  thought  of  invit- 
ing her ;  but  when  Mrs.  Bonham  put  her  foot  down 
on  the  hint  as  to  the  bridesmaid — and  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  foot  was  fairly  flat — Miss  Kimmidge  was 
not  slow  to  perceive  that  her  gratitude  for  the 
wedding  gift  was  expected  to  be  diffident  as  well 
as  effusive.  So  diffident  she  was;  not  flagrantly, 
but  with  the  tact  which  had  characterized  her  con- 
duct ever  since  she  had  come  to  the  Beeches.  She 
let  it  be  understood  in  Stottleham  that  she  should 
not  dream  of  inviting  Mrs.  Bonham.  Of  course 
she  couldn't  come  such  a  distance!  It  would  be 
ridiculous.  And  Stottleham  agreed.  Such  a 
favour  could  not,  in  the  circumstances,  be  expected 
of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 

But  the  Vearings  went  to  the  wedding.  That, 
Georgina  said,  was  all  right ;  Mr.  Vearing  was  a 
clergyman,  so  it  didn't  matter,  and  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing, of  course,  was  a  clergyman's  wife.  It  was 
different.  Mr.  Vearing  took  part  in  the  wedding 
service;  and  Mrs.  Vearing — in  mauve — wiped  her 
eyes  with  a  lace  handkerchief.  She  always  wept 
at  a  wedding  and  always  explained  that  her  tears 
were  tears  of  joy. 

It  was  satin  after  all.  When  it  came  to  the 
point,  Patricia  confessed  to  the  triumphant 
Hannah  that  she  could  not  resist  it.  And  Ludo- 
vic's  bridal  present  was  a  pearl  pendant,  so  it  was 
also  pearls.  She  went  away  in  blue,  a  soft  blue 


MISS  KIMMIDGE  191 

and  deep:  Stottleham — not  of  course  the  leading 
set,  but  the  rest  of  it — was  shown  a  pattern  of 
the  cloth,  and  approved :  and  it  was  so  sensible  of 
that  nice  Miss  Kimmidge  to  choose  a  colour  and 
material  which  would  be  serviceable  as  a  best  dress 
all  winter.  Stottleham  was  not  shown  the  white 
satin,  because  Mrs.  Kimmidge  could  only  afford 
one  that  was  rather  thin;  but  it  looked  lovely  in 
the  church,  so  Mrs.  Vearing  reported;  and  in  the 
photograph  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom  which 
went  the  round,  nobody  could  tell  how  thick  were 
the  folds  of  the  bride's  gown. 

There  were  two  bridesmaids,  little  Kimmidge 
sisters,  dressed  in  white  and  pink.  Mrs.  Kim- 
midge wore  black  and  white  because  she  was  a 
widow;  and  Miss  Pottlebury  was  in  dove  colour. 

All  this  was  known  and  discussed  in  Stottleham, 
and  generally  approved;  and  it  was  considered 
very  sensible,  the  month  being  November,  that  the 
bridesmaids '  dresses  were  of  serge  and  not  muslin, 
especially  as  Eileen,  the  youngest  child — so  Mrs. 
Markham  had  heard — was  subject  to  swollen 
glands.  Miss  Truefitt,  to  be  sure,  could  not  forego 
criticism :  she  said  how  anybody  with  Miss  Pottle- 
bury 's  complexion  could  go  in  for  dove  colour 
passed  her.  But  Mrs.  Vearing  stated  at  the 
Needlework  Guild  that  Miss  Pottlebury  looked 
very  nice;  and  there  was  an  anti-Truefitt  faction 
which  maintained  that  dove  colour  and  Miss 
Pottlebury  went  quite  well  together. 

The  one  blot  on  Miss  Kimmidge 's  happiness  was 
that  her  name  was  to  be  Pottlebury.  She  could 


192  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

not  of  course  speak  of  it  either  to  Ludovic  or  to 
Miss  Pottlebury;  and  Hannah,  to  the  last,  re- 
mained her  only  confidante. 

"I  always  thought  that  Patricia  sounded  rather 
absurd  when  it  was  followed  even  by  Kimmidge. 
But  Patricia  Pottlebury!  Don't  you  think, 
Hannah,  that  it's  awful?" 

"I'd  be  called  Pottle,  without  the  bury,  Miss 
Patricia,  if  I  loved  'im,"  said  Hannah. 

"Oh,  of  course.  I'd  be  called  anything.  But  if 
only  they'd  christened  me  Emma — or  Kate,  or — 
well,  any  sensible  ordinary  name." 

"I  wouldn't  carry  on  about  a  name,  Miss,  if  I 
was  you.  Patricia's  a  lovely  name  to  my  way  of 
thinking.  Besides,"  Hannah  went  on,  "you  can't 
have  the  man  without  the  name." 

"I  know,"  -said  Miss  Kimmidge,  and  sighed. 

Nevertheless,  when,  immediately  after  the  mar- 
riage ceremony,  someone  addressed  her  as  Mrs. 
Pottlebury,  Patricia  smiled. 


BOOK  IV 
LADY  CLEMENTINA 

CHAPTER  I 

DORRIE  stood  in  a  garden  and  looked  at  the 
flowers.  A  young  man  stood  beside  her  and 
looked  at  Dorrie.  He  thought  her  very  delightful 
to  look  at;  and  she  was.  She  was  seventeen  now, 
and  quite  as  pretty  at  seventeen  as  she  had  been 
at  seven.  But  she  had  been  pretty  all  her  short 
life  long ;  without  any  lapses  or  transition  periods 
of  plainness.  She  had  been  neither  lanky  nor 
lumpy,  neither  bony  nor  bulgy;  but  always  slim, 
rounded,  and  properly  proportioned;  with  a  skin 
soft  and  smooth  and  white,  and  eyes  as  blue  and 
innocent  as  forget-me-nots. 

The  garden  she  was  in  was  not  the  garden  of  the 
Beeches,  but  an  older,  larger  garden  belonging 
to  a  house  called  Holt  Hall.  Dorrie  was  stay- 
ing at  Holt  Hall  with  the  Fortescues,  and  her 
friend,  Gwendolen  Saunders-Parr,  who  was  the 
late  Mr.  Fortescue's  niece,  was  staying  there  too. 
Gwendolen,  indeed,  had  been  the  bridge  which 
spanned  the  space  between  Holt  Hall  and  the 
Beeches :  it  was  as  Gwendolen's  friend  that  Dorrie 
had  been  invited.  Not,  however,  at  Gwendolen's 
suggestion.  The  suggestion  had  come  from  Len 
Fortescue,  and  his  mother  had  acted  on  it  be- 

103 


194  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

cause  she  acted  on  most  suggestions  made  by  Len. 

Len,  paying  periodic  visits  to  Stottleham,  had 
seen  the  long  black  legs  of  the  pretty  kid  gradu- 
ally obscured  by  a  longer  length  of  petticoats,  and 
at  his  last  visit  had  found  that  the  child  Dorrie  had 
become  an  almost  young  lady.  Not  quite,  for  she 
was  not  yet  ' '  out, ' '  and  was  not  to  be  out  for  an- 
other year  at  the  very  least;  but  her  hair  was 
up,  and  her  skirts  were  down  and  she  wore  high 
heels  to  her  shoes. 

It  was  after  this  last  visit  that  Len  made  the 
suggestion  that  Dorrie  should  be  asked  to  stay  at 
Holt  Hall;  and  his  mother  accordingly  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  polite  note  to  Mrs.  Bonham ;  and  be- 
cause his  mother  was  Lady  Clementina,  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  accepted  the  invitation. 

Years  before,  when  Lady  Clementina  had  paid 
a  visit  to  her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Saunders-Parr, 
she  and  Georgina  had  met.  Mrs.  Bonham  had  a 
lively  recollection  of  Lady  Clementina,  but  Lady 
Clementina  had  no  recollection  at  all  of  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham. This,  however,  did  not  matter,  since  Geor- 
gina was  unconscious  that  she  had  been  forgotten ; 
and  the  fact  that  she  and  Lady  Clementina  had 
met,  made  it  quite  correct  for  Dorrie  to  accept 
the  invitation. 

Georgina,  indeed,  was  extremely  pleased  about 
the  visit:  Lady  Clementina,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  not  pleased  at  all.  She  had  not  been  nearly 
so  much  impressed  by  the  Stottleham  best  set  as 
the  best  set  was  impressed  by  itself,  and  she  was 
not  eager  to  entertain  the  girl  whom  Len  described 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  195 

as  ripping.  But  she  was  one  of  the  mothers  who 
never  thwart  their  sons  for  fear  of  the  conse- 
quences. If  a  young  man  does  not  have  his  way, 
he  is  sure  to  persist  in  getting  it,  whereas  if  you 
let  him  have  it  he  will  probably  cease  to  want  it. 
Such  was  Lady  Clementina's  philosophy. 

As  Len  was  the  only  son  and  his  father  had 
been  a  rich  man,  it  was  most  important  that  he 
should  marry  the  right  sort  of  wife ;  and  the  way 
to  ensure  his  marrying  the  wrong  one  was  to  re- 
fuse to  ask  her  to  stay  when  he  suggested  it. 
Lady  Clementina  was  prepared  to  receive  every 
wrong  one  that  Len  fancied  he  fancied ;  especially 
as  it  was  much  easier  to  damn  them  with  faint 
praise  when  they  were  at  Holt  Hall  than  when 
they  were  in  provincial  towns  or  in  choruses  at 
the  theatres. 

Accordingly  she  wrote  the  polite  invitation 
which  Georgina  politely  accepted ;  and  accordingly, 
when  Gwendolen  Saunders-Parr  arrived  at  Holt 
Hall,  Dorrie  arrived  too. 

CHAPTER  II 

Lady  Clementina,  when  she  saw  Dorrie,  was 
dreadfully  disappointed.  From  Len's  description 
she  had  expected  to  see  a  pretty  girl,  but  of  a 
prettiness  not  the  least  like  Dome's;  and  when 
Dorrie  followed  Gwendolen  into  the  hall,  Lady 
Clementina's  heart  suffered  severe  'contortions; 
for  it  sank  deep  down,  and  at  the  same  time  it 
went  out  to  Dorrie. 


196  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

She  had  meant  not  to  like  her,  and  she  was 
terribly  afraid  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  like 
her ;  she  had  expected  not  to  think  her  more  than 
ordinarily  pretty,  and  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  her 
prettiness  was  out  of  the  ordinary.  It  was  im- 
possible not  to  admit  that  she  was  perfect  of  her 
type;  and  the  worst  of  it  was  that  her  type  was 
the  type  which  Lady  Clementina  most  admired. 
Dorrie 's  beauty  was  neither  very  subtle  nor  too 
intelligent  nor  markedly  spiritual  nor  at  all 
statuesque.  She  was  just  full  of  life  and  grace 
and  colour  and  sweetness ;  and  was  not  a  bit  bounc- 
ing, which  Lady  Clementina  had  thought  she 
might  be,  nor  at  all  awkward,  which  Lady  Clemen- 
tina had  hoped  she  might  appear.  She  was  in 
fact  everything  which  Lady  Clementina  did  not 
want  her  to  be. 

So  on  the  May  morning  when  Dorrie  was  look- 
ing at  the  flowers  and  Len  was  looking  at  Dorrie, 
Lady  Clementina,  looking  at  both  of  them  from  a 
window,  could  not  but  admit  that  it  would  be  ex- 
cusable if  Len  did  fall  truly  in  love  with  her ;  nay, 
that  it  would  be  almost  inexcusable  if  he  didn't. 
Of  course  she  hoped  it  would  not  be  anything  per- 
manent or  serious;  if  it  were,  if  Len's  fancy 
proved  to  be  something  he  could  not  be  laughed 
or  cajoled  out  of,  Lady  Clementina  felt  that  she 
would  be  obliged  to  oppose  it  tooth  and  nail.  She 
wanted  a  daughter-in-law  belonging  to  Society,  not 
to  Stottleham,  and  Len  must  be  preserved  from 
the  snare  of  a  heedless  attachment. 

But  she  did  not  want  to  fight ;  it  would  be  hate- 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  197 

ful  to  oppose  Len;  and  besides  the  hatefulness  of 
opposition,  she  was  conscious  that  she  would  be 
handicapped  in  the  encounter.  She  had  a  weak- 
ness— and  she  knew  it — for  a  pretty  face;  good 
looks  in  man  or  woman  appealed  to  her  with  a 
special  appeal;  and  Dorrie,  she  well  knew,  would 
be  a  disconcerting  foe.  It  was  horribly  difficult 
to  cold-shoulder  a  girl  when  what  you  really 
wanted  to  do  was  to  hug  her. 

It  was  positively  annoying  that  the  two  looked 
so  well  together.  And  they  did:  it  was  no  use 
denying  it.  Len  was  hardly  as  good-looking  in 
his  way  as  Dorrie  was  in  hers,  but  good-looking 
he  most  decidedly  was;  in  the  kind  of  way  too 
which  just  fitted  in  with  Dorrie 's.  He  was 
slender  as  she  was,  and  admirably  made;  brown, 
compared  with  her  fairness;  and  with  dark  eyes 
that  his  mother  thought  fascinating — and  of 
course  Dorrie  would. 

Dorrie!  Yes,  there  Lady  Clementina  had 
already  stumbled.  She  had  determined  that  she 
would  most  frigidly  Miss  Bonham  Len's  fancy, 
and  before  the  girl  had  been  twenty-four  hours  in 
the  house  she  had  called  her  Dorrie.  She  had 
tried  to  retrieve  her  mistake  by  affecting  to  look 
upon  Dorrie  as  a  mere  child;  but  child  or  not,  it 
was  an  idiotic  thing  to  have  done ;  and  the  exasper- 
ating Len  was  obviously  delighted. 

What  was  he  saying  to  the  girl  now?  She  was 
half  turned  away  from  him.  "No  doubt  she 
knows,"  thought  Lady  Clementina,  "that  her  pro- 
file is  charming."  Ah,  now  she  looks  round;  and 


198  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

now  they  both  laugh.  What  at!  Young  people 
laugh  at  such  silly  things.  Better  than  senti- 
ment anyhow.  But  they  laugh  sometimes  on  the 
very  verge  'of  sentiment — out  of  pure  nervousness. 
Lady  Clementina  sighed. 


CHAPTER  III 

"I  suppose  I  must  go  on  calling  you  Miss  Bon- 
ham,"  Len  said. 

"If  you  like." 

"I  don't  like  it,  but — now  your  hair's  up." 

"Then  I  must  go  on  with  Mr.  Fortescue." 

" My  hair  isn't  up,"  said  Len. 

"Well,  it  isn't  down,"  said  Dorrie. 

This  is  what  they  laughed  at.  It  was  quite  as 
silly  as  Lady  Clementina  supposed ;  and  also  it  was 
not  as  far  away  from  sentiment  as  she  would  have 
desired. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should,"  Len  went  on. 

"You  began  it,"  said  Dorrie. 

"Did  I?  Well,  I — you  looked  so  awfully  grown 
up  you  know,  that  I  ...  Shall  we  drop  it?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like." 

"Say 'Yes,  Len.'  " 

"Yes,  Len." 

"I  wish  you'd  look  at  me  when  you  speak  to 
me." 

"It's  so  difficult  to  look  at  people  when  they're 
standing  beside  you.  You  've  got  to  keep  on  twist- 
ing your  neck." 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  199 

"I'll  stand  where  you  don't  have  to  twist  your 
neck." 

Len  moved  and  stood  straight  in  front  of  Dorrie. 

''Now,  look,  Dorrie!'* 

Dorrie  looked.  Len  of  course  looked  too,  and 
they  continued  to  look  at  one  another  for  what, 
from  an  onlooker 's  point  of  view,  was  quite  a  long 
time. 

"Whatever  are  they  up  to  now?"  said  Lady 
Clementina  to  herself.  *  *  I  almost  think  I  'd  better 
go  out." 

She  went  out,  but  it  was  really  not  much  use. 
She  could  not  stay  out — not  all  the  morning;  and 
she  knew  quite  well  that  as  soon  as  she  went  in, 
they  would  begin  again;  and  if  she  did  not  go  in, 
Len  would  think  her  a  bore.  It  was  most  difficult, 
especially  as  they  made  such  an  ideal  couple.  If 
only  Lady  Clementina  could  have  hated  Dorrie  in- 
stead of  finding  her  delightful !  If  only  she  could 
have  thought  her  vulgar  or  bad  style  or  provincial 
or  anything  but  charming !  She  did  say  to  herself 
that  Dorrie  was  a  minx;  but  she  knew  it  was  not 
true;  and  as  for  trying  to  get  anything  to  Dome's 
disadvantage  out  of  Gwendolen  .  .  . !  Gwendolen 
would  say  nothing  but  that  Dorrie  was  a  dear. 

Lady  Clementina,  when  she  went  in  after  talking 
inanely  for  a  few  minutes  to  Len  and  Dorrie,  sug- 
gested to  Gwendolen  that  she  and  Captain  Le 
Marchant  should  go  out  and  play  tennis  with  her 
cousin  and  her  friend.  Gwendolen  said  "Cer- 
tainly," and  she  and  Captain  Le  Marchant  went 
out  as  suggested  and  stood  laughing  and  talking 


200  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

with  Dorrie  and  Len.  Then  they  wandered  off 
and  disappeared  in  the  shrubbery,  while  Len  and 
Dorrie  strolled  away  and  were  lost  to  sight  in  the 
rose  walk;  and  neither  of  the  couples  came  into 
view  again  till  lunch  time. 

By  lunch  time,  however,  Lady  Clementina  felt  a 
little  better.  Not  that  the  situation  had  improved ; 
it  had  if  anything  grown  worse,  since  tete-a-tete 
conversations  in  rose  walks  do  not  tend  to  diminish 
imprudence;  but  in  the  interval  between  the  win- 
dow and  the  lunch  table  she  had,  as  she  said  to  her- 
self, done  something,  and  was  somewhat  soothed 
by  the  calming  effect  of  action. 

What  she  had  done  was  to  write  a  letter  to  her 
sister-in-law  and  make  enquiries.  It  was  better  in 
any  case  to  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  what  you  had 
to  deal  with.  For  aught  Len  knew,  Dorrie 's 
grandmother  might  have  been  a  charwoman — both 
her  grandmothers  might  have  been  charwomen  or 
something  of  the  kind,  and  one  of  them,  perhaps, 
a  drunkard;  and  her  grandfathers  non-existent; 
and  surely  that  sort  of  thing  would  put  Len  off. 
If  on  the  other  hand  .  .  .  there  were  of  course  the 
Bonshire  Bonhams  .  .  .  and  looks  counted  for 
something  .  .  .  and  there  might  be  money.  .  .  . 
For  as  Len  would  have  enough  money  to  support 
half  a  dozen  wives,  it  was  of  course  imperative  that 
his  one  wife  should  possess  a  fortune. 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  201 

CHAPTER  IV 

Lady  Clementina  was  not  the  only  person  at 
Holt  Hall  who  observed  Len  and  Dorrie  from 
a  window.  There  were  many  windows  at  the  Hall, 
some  quite  high  up,  for  the  house  had  three 
storeys,  and  it  was  from  one  of  the  uppermost 
windows  that  another  pair  of  eyes  looked  down 
upon  Dorrie  and  Len. 

And  with  what  a  different  aim,  from  what  a  dif- 
ferent standpoint,  -with  what  different  doubts ! 

Lady  Clementina  looked  upon  Dorrie  as  decid- 
edly beneath  her  son:  these  other  eyes  saw  her 
as  miles  above  him.  Miles?  Perhaps  leagues. 
Therein,  as  to  whether  it  was  miles  or  leagues, 
lay  the  doubt.  For  of  course  she  was  miles  above 
all  men  and  leagues  above  most.  None  could  quite 
reach  her  level,  not  even  a  prince;  but  the  one 
must  be  at  least  within  measurable  distance  of  her. 

It  was  Hannah  of  course  who  looked  from  the 
upper  window;  nobody  else  would  have  seen  as 
Hannah  saw;  Georgina  herself  could  not  have 
taken  up  such  an  attitude. 

Hannah,  in  many  ways,  was  having  the  time  of 
her  life.  For  there  she  was,  at  Holt  Hall,  waiting 
upon  Dorrie ;  without  any  need  for  discretion,  any 
fear  of  offence,  any  interference  or  regulations. 
She  had  Miss  Dorrie  all  to  herself  whenever  Miss 
Dorrie  was  within  the  four  walls  of  her  bedroom : 
getting  up,  going  to  bed,  doing  her  hair,  changing 
her  frock,  putting  her  hat  on,  taking  it  off,  dress- 
ing for  dinner.  On  all  these  occasions,  there  was 


202  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Hannah  feeding  up  her  starved  heart  with  the  joy 
of  devoted  service:  on  all  these  occasions  it  was 
as  though  Dorrie  were  once  more  in  the  nursery, 
and  Hannah  had  re-become  Nurse.  And  the 
beauty,  the  exquisite  delight  of  it  was,  that  Dorrie 
was  as  pleased  as  Hannah ;  that  she  loved  Hannah 
to  brush  her  hair  for  twenty  minutes  at  a  time; 
that  she  insisted  upon  Hannah  tucking  her  up  in 
bed;  and  that  she  never  allowed  Hannah  to  leave 
her  bedside  until  she  had  kissed  her  good-night. 

And  it  had  all  come  about  because  Holt  Hall  was 
such  a  very  big  house.  The  beneficence  of  big 
houses ! 

Mrs.  Saunders-Parr,  going  to  tea  with  Mrs. 
Bonham  when  the  visit  was  first  planned,  had  men- 
tioned that  Gwendolen  would  take  a  maid. 

"I  don't  say  that  it's  necessary,  especially  in 
her  aunt's  house.  But  in  these  big  houses  you 
can't  always  depend  upon  housemaids.  They're 
accustomed  to  people  bringing  their  own  at- 
tendants, and  are  apt  not  to  care  about  waiting  on 
visitors." 

"Quite  so,"  Mrs.  Bonham  had  replied;  "I  am 
glad  to  hear  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  Dorrie 
taking  her  own  maid,  for  I  should  much  prefer  it. ' ' 

Dorrie,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  had  no  own  maid. 
The  parlourmaid  did  what  waiting  she  required, 
and  Hannah  attended  on  Mrs.  Bonham.  But  if 
Gwendolen  took  a  maid,  Dorrie  must  take  one  too ; 
and  Georgina,  moreover,  could  not  tolerate  the 
idea  of  the  Holt  Hall  housemaids  condescending 
to  her  daughter  because  she  was  maidless. 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  203 

This  being  so,  there  really  was  nobody  to  play 
the  part  of  maid,  save  Hannah.  Since  the  depar- 
ture of  Miss  Kimmidge,  Georgina  had  started  an 
under  parlourmaid;  but  the  under  parlourmaid 
was  both  fat  and  flighty  and  neither  looked  the 
part,  nor  would  have  played  it  with  any  distinction. 
Hannah  on  the  other  hand  was  free  from  flighti- 
ness  and  embonpoint  and  looked  the  respectable 
family  servant  if  she  looked  anything  at  all. 

Georgina  did  have  a  vision  of  engaging  a  smart 
French  maid  for  the  occasion;  but  could  she  get 
smartness  and  Frenchness  and  reliability  all  in 
one  ?  Moreover,  a  maid  engaged  for  the  occasion 
would  probably  have  confided  to  the  servants'  hall 
that  she  was  occasional.  Georgina 's  customary 
good  sense  speedily  banished  the  vision,  and  she 
decided  in  favour  of  Hannah.  The  absurd  tie 
between  nurse  and  nursling  was  now,  she  con- 
sidered, broken ;  and  even  were  it  not  wholly  dis- 
solved, a  week's  confiding  of  Dorrie  to  Hannah 
could  do  no  harm.  Having  decided  what  she 
was  going  to  do,  she  communicated  her  decision 
to  Mrs.  Vearing,  and  Mrs.  Vearing  wholeheartedly 
commended  the  wisdom  of  her  course. 

Thus  it  was  that  Hannah,  from  an  upper  win- 
dow, was  able  to  contemplate  what  Lady  Clemen- 
tina observed  from  a  lower  one. 

CHAPTER  V 

Hannah  was  quite  pleased  with  Holt  Hall. 
It  was  not  a  royal  palace,  but  it  was  a  prince- 
ly home — or  so  it  seemed  to  Hannah.  She 


204  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

passed  the  home:  her  only  doubt  was  as  to  its 
owner.  Was  he  in  any  true  sense,  in  any  ap- 
preciable degree,  a  prince  ?  Plain  Mister  he  was ; 
not  His  Highness  nor  My  Lord  nor  His  Worship ; 
and  he  ought  to  have  possessed  all  these  titles. 
But  Hannah,  though  she  had  vaguely  dreamed 
of  the  son  of  a  reigning  royalty,  had,  in  her  imag- 
inings, rather  the  conception  of  a  prince  in  a  fairy 
tale  than  of  an  heir  to  a  throne.  He  must  look 
like  one  anyhow;  and  whatever  his  lineage  or 
his  prospects,  had  he  failed  to  pass  her  criterion 
of  appearance,  Hannah  would  have  disdained 
him.  Now  Len,  to  look  at,  was  rather  like  what 
she  thought  a  prince  ought  to  look  like.  To  be 
sure,  having  no  title  at  all,  Hannah  would  never 
have  admitted  his  claims,  his  looks  notwithstand- 
ing, save  for  one  all-powerful  consideration;  the 
consideration,  namely,  that  Miss  Dorrie  evidently 
admitted  them;  that  she  admitted  them  was  obvi- 
ous to  anyone  who  took  observations  from  a  win- 
dow. 

The  question  in  Hannah's  mind  was  not,  was 
he  worthy?  for  he  could  not  be  that;  but  was  he 
as  near  to  being  worthy  as  it  was  possible  for 
mortal  man  to  be?  While  Lady  Clementina  at 
one  window  was  debating  whether  it  were  possible 
to  disentangle  Len  from  Dorrie,  Hannah  at  an- 
other was  wondering  if  it  would  be  advisable  to 
try  to  lure  Dorrie  from  Len.  Both  had  qualms; 
Lady  Clementina  because  she  could  not  help  see- 
ing that  they  made  an  ideal  couple;  Hannah  be- 
cause she  could  not  help  feeling  that  Dorrie  was 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  205 

already  bound  up  in  Len,  that  it  would  be  almost 
cruel  as  well  as  futile  to  try  to  turn  her  away 
from  him. 

Len  and  Dorrie  meanwhile  went  on  their  way 
rejoicing. 

It  never  occurred  to  Dorrie  to  do  anything  but 
rejoice.  The  world  was  perfectly  delightful;  ev- 
erybody and  everything  was  charming  and  she  was 
as  happy  as  the  day  was  long;  happier;  since  she 
went  on  being  happy  after  the  day  was  done.  She 
had  none  of  Miss  Kimmidge's  misgivings,  be- 
cause she  was  devoid  of  Miss  Kimmidge's  realiza- 
tion. She  did  not  question  if  Len  were  in  love 
with  her,  because  she  did  not  know  that  she  was 
in  love  with  Len.  Lady  Clementina  knew — in 
her  astute  mind ;  and  Hannah  knew — in  her  heart 
of  hearts ;  but  Dorrie  had  no  idea  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her.  She  only  knew  that  everything  was 
delicious ;  and  she  wrote  home  to  darling  Mummy 
that  she  was  enjoying  herself  immensely. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Mrs.  Saunders-Parr  replied  almost  immedi- 
ately to  Lady  Clementina's  letter  of  enquiry. 
She  assured  dearest  Clemmy  that  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  was  a  delightful  woman  and  was 
considered  quite  an  acquisition  to  Stottleham  so- 
ciety. ("What  do  I  care,"  thought  Lady  Clem- 
entina, *  *  for  Stottleham  society  ? ")  She  had  been 


206  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

a  Miss  Smythe;  and  Mrs.  Saunders-Parr  didn't 
know  which  Smythe  or  if  it  was  any  of  the 
Smythes ;  but  the  father  had  made  a  fortune — coal 
or  beer;  she  wasn't  sure  which,  but  at  any  rate 
something  quite  respectable.  As  for  Mr.  Bon- 
ham,  he  had  been  a  charming  man,  though  rather 
a  spendthrift.  Mrs.  Saunders-Parr  could  not  say 
for  certain  whether  he  was  Bonshire,  but  she  be- 
lieved the  family  was  county,  and  there  was  a 
baronet,  she  thought,  somewhere  about  in  it, 
though  it  might  be  only  a  knight. 

Lady  Clementina,  reading  the  letter,  first  turned 
up  her  nose  and  then  turned  down  the  corners  of 
her  mouth.  It  was  just  about  as  tiresome  as  it 
could  be.  She  wanted  family  for  Len,  and  there 
was  nothing  you  could  call  family  there;  and  on 
the  other  hand,  there  was  no  drunken  charwoman 
to  hurl  at  Len's  head.  Money?  There  was  a 
little  money.  Muriel  wrote  that  Mrs.  Bonham 
was  quite  well  off — comfortable,  and  of  course 
Dorrie  would  have  it  all.  But  well  off — in 
Stottleham!  It  would  be  nothing  to  make  a  dif- 
ference. It  might  serve  Dorrie  as  pin-money,  but 
— Lady  Clementina  set  her  mental  teeth — "but  as 
the  wife  of  some  other  man  than  my  son,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

With  her  mental  teeth  set  very  tight,  Lady 
Clementina  went  downstairs.  She  went  into  her 
boudoir,  from  the  window  of  which  she  had  a  few 
days  ago  observed  Len  and  Dorrie  in  the  garden. 
She  sat  down  by  that  same  window  and  began  to 
think  out  how  she  could  save  Len  from  the  blan- 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  207 

dishments  of  that  minx ;  for  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  now  that  Dorrie  was  a  minx ;  it  was  easier  to 
be  horrid  to  a  minx. 

She  had  not  been  sitting  thinking  very  long, 
when  the  door  opened  and  in  marched  Len,  holding 
Dorrie  by  the  hand. 

Both  of  them  were  radiant,  and  Len  said,  as  if 
he  were  imparting  the  most  delightful  news: 

"Mother,  I've  brought  you  my  future  wife." 

Lady  Clementina  gasped. 

"My — dear — Len,"  she  said. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  awfully  surprised,"  Len 
went  on.  ' '  I  kept  it  all  dark  because  I  didn  't  want 
anybody  to  guess  till  I'd  made  sure — of  Tier." 

"I — I "  said  Lady  Clementina. 

"So  dark,"  laughed  Len,  "that  even  she  was 
surprised." 

They  both  stood  there  smiling  at  Lady  Clemen- 
tina, and  Lady  Clementina  looked  back  at  them 
with  her  mouth  open, — but  not  in  a  smile. 

1 '  May  I  kiss  you  ? ' '  said  Dorrie. 

And  Lady  Clementina,  who  meant  to  say  all 
sorts  of  unpleasant  things  and  was  wondering  how 
best  to  begin,  somehow  said,  before  she  knew  what 
she  was  doing:  "Yes." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  said  Dorrie  after  the  kiss,  and 
beaming  at  Lady  Clementina,  "that  Len's  got  such 
a  lovely  mother. ' ' 

"As  if,"  thought  Lady  Clementina,  "sfee  was 
the  one  who  had  to  accept  me." 

She  thought  this  as  much  as  she  could  think  any- 
thing, but  she  could  not  think  properly  at  all :  she 


208  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

was  giddy  with  bewilderment.  She  wanted  to  say 
that  she  would  not  give  her  consent,  that  nothing 
would  induce  her  to  give  her  consent ;  but  she  could 
not  get  the  words  out.  If  only  they  had  asked  for 
her  consent,  it  would  have  been  easier;  but  they 
did  not  ask ;  they  took  it  for  granted. 

Then,  when  Dorrie  had  kissed  her,  Len  kissed 
her,  and  they  both  hovered  about  her,  asking  her 
if  she  wasn't  surprised  and  if  she  was  pleased. 
Lady  Clementina,  of  course,  was  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other,  but  she  found  herself  implying  that 
she  was  both ;  she  even  found  herself,  as  they  went 
on  talking,  laughing  at  the  ridiculous  things  they 
said.  At  last  Dorrie  said  she  must  go  and  write 
to  Mummy. 

"I  hope  she'll  be  pleased;  I  think  she  will.  But 
of  course,"  she  said  to  Lady  Clementina,  "she 
doesn't  know  Len  nearly  as  well  as  you  know  me." 

"So  my  satisfaction  is  taken  for  granted,  while 
Mrs.  Bonham  ...  Oh  Lord!"  thought  Lady 
Clementina. 

CHAPTER  VII 

Dorrie  went  up  to  her  bedroom  to  write  to  Mrs. 
Bonham,  and  in  her  bedroom  she  found  Hannah. 

"Oh,  Hannah,"  said  Dorrie,  "what  do  you 
think?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hannah.  It  was  what 
she  had  said  to  Miss  Kimmidge  when  Miss  Kim- 
midge  had  asked  her  the  same  question  in  approxi- 
mately the  same  circumstances. 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  209 

''Nurse,"  said  Dorrie,  "I'm  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

Hannah,  when  Miss  Kimmidge  had  made  a  simi- 
lar announcement,  had  said:  "I  never";  but  she 
did  not  say  it  now;  she  said  nothing  at  all.  In- 
stead of  saying  anything,  Hannah  burst  into 
tears. 

"Nurse  dear,"  said  Dorrie,  "are  you — aren't 
you  .  .  .!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Dorrie!" 

' '  Have  you  got  toothache  f ' ' 

"No,  Miss  Dorrie,  oh  no." 

"Then  ...  Oh,  I  wish  you  wouldn't." 

"To  think  of  it,  Miss  Dorrie!" 

"But  don't  you  like  to  think  of  it?" 

If  only  Dorrie,  distressed  and  taken  aback,  had 
looked  downstairs  as  she  looked  now,  Lady  Clem- 
entina would  have  put  her  foot  down  and  stamped 
on  both  her  and  Len. 

"Oh  yes,  Miss,  but  ..." 

"Is  it  tears  of  joy?"  asked  Dorrie,  cheering  up. 

"I  daresay,  Miss  Dorrie."  Hannah  dried  her 
eyes.  "To  think  of  you,  that  I  used  to  get  up  in 
the  night  to  give  a  drink  to — only  yesterday  as  it 
seems." 

"It  wasn't  yesterday,  you  silly  thing,  but  ever 
so  long  ago ;  I  hardly  remember  it.  But  do  make 
haste  and  congratulate  me." 

"I  do,  Miss  Dorrie,  and  many  of  them.    Only 
» 

"Only  what?  Oh,  Nurse,  you  are  a  wet  blan- 
ket." 


210  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"Miss  Dorrie,"  said  Hannah  solemnly,  "is  he 
good  enough?" 

Dorrie  laughed.  "Miles  too  good.  Why,  he's 
perfect." 

"Not  so  perfect  as  you,  Miss  Dorrie." 

' '  That  shows  how  much  you  know  about  it.  But 
it's  only  because  you  brought  me  up.  If  you'd 
given  us  both  drinks  in  the  night,  you  'd  have  liked 
him  ever  so  much  the  best." 

"No,  nor  I  shouldn't,  Miss." 

"Yes,  Nurse  dear,  you  would.  But  I'm  far 
too  happy  to  argue." 

"He  ain't  got  anything  before  his  name,  Miss 
Dorrie." 

"Anything  before  .  .  .  What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  ought  to  have  somebody  with  the  kind  of 
name  that  I  could  say  My  Lord  or  Eoyal  'Ighness 
or  something  of  that  to  him." 

"Oh,  Nurse,  you  are  a  snob." 

"I  ain't,  Miss  Dorrie,  but  I  always  looked  for 
you  to  have  a  prince,  or  anyhow  a  duke." 

"Well,  his  grandfather's  an  earl." 

"That  may  be,  but  you  ain't  going  to  marry  his 
grandfather. ' ' 

"Thank  heaven,  no." 

"Is  he  an  old  gentleman?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  old — I  suppose." 

"P'raps  when  he  dies,  your  ..."  Hannah 
paused,  arrested  by  the  prose  of  an  everyday  vo- 
cabulary. "Your  lover,"  Hannah  went  on,  "will 
come  into  the  title. ' ' 

"Oh  no.    It's  on  his  mother's  side,  you  see." 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  211 

''What  does  that  matter,  Miss  Dorrie?  Father 
or  mother,  what's  the  difference?  Why  shouldn't 
it  come  through  his  mother  ? " 

"Oh,  because — I  don't  know,  but  it  never  does. 
It's  the  law  or  something." 

"If  he  marries  you,  Miss  Dorrie,  it  ought  to  be 
arranged  so  as  he  gets  it." 

"Whatever  does  it  matter  what  he's  calledl 
Anyhow,  if  you  wanted  me  to  marry  a  prince, 
you've  got  your  wish,  for  he  is  a  prince." 

"Is  he,  Miss  Dorrie?"  Hannah  was  a  little 
wistful.  "  It 's  what  I  wondered. ' ' 

"Of  course  he  is.  Why,  you've  only  got  to  look 
at  him. ' ' 

"He's  sort  of  like  one." 

"Don't  you  think  him  very  handsome ?" 

"  'Andsome  he  is.  And  I  expect  he's  rich.  My 
sister,  whose  fate  was  pore  but  beautiful,  used  to 
say,  when  Mother  was  against  it,  'If  I've  nothing 
to  eat,'  she  says,  'I'll  have  something  to  look  at.' 
But  it's  better  t6  be  rich  as  well.  He  is  rich,  Miss 
Dorrie,  I  suppose?" 

"I  don't  know,  I " 

Dorrie  paused,  looked  round  the  room  and  out  of 
the  window  across  the  garden  and  park.  "I — I 
suppose  he  must  be,"  she  said. 

"No  doubt  this  house  belongs  to  him,"  said 
Hannah. 

"I  suppose  it  must.  It  seems  enormous,  doesn't 
it? — after  the  Beeches." 

"It's  just  the  sort  of  'ouse,  Miss  Dorrie,  you 
ought  to  have." 


212  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

" Nurse,"  said  Dome,  "I  want  you  to  do  me  a 
favour. ' ' 

"You  know,  Miss  Dorrie,  when  you  put  your 
arms  round  my  neck,  I  can 't  never  say  no. ' ' 

"I  want  you,  Nurse,  to  like  him  and  think  him 
just  as  nice  as  if  you  used  to  give  him  drinks  in 
the  night. ' ' 

"I'll  try  and  pretend,  Miss  Dorrie,  as  I  did  so." 

"That's  a  good  Nurse.  And  now  I  must  write 
to  Mummy.  I  wonder  what  she  '11  say ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

What  Georgina  said  it  would  be  impossible 
to  reproduce.  She  was  quite  as  much  upset  as 
was  Lady  Clementina,  but  in  a  different  way; 
and  a  great  deal  more  surprised.  Faint  hopes 
that  such  a  result  might  ultimately  be  brought 
about  through  the  visit  to  Holt  Hall  had  stirred 
within  her ;  but  so  soon  ...  so  suddenly  .  .  .  And 
Dorrie  was  still  so  young — too  young  .  .  . 

Georgina 's  bacon  was  cold  before  she  turned  to 
eat  it,  and  then  she  could  not  eat  it.  She  break- 
fasted off  two  mouthf uls  of  toast  and  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee, and  immediately,  without  even  waiting  to  or- 
der the  dinner,  set  out  for  Mrs.  Vearing's.  She 
somehow  never  thought  of  Dr.  Rayke;  Alicia  in- 
stinctively was  her  goal;  perhaps  because  there 
was  nothing  to  consult  about  and  a  supreme  some- 
thing to  confide. 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  213 

Mrs.  Vearing  was  in  the  garden,  nailing  creepers 
to  the  arbour. 

' '  My  dear  Georgina !  So  early  t  I  hope  there 's 
nothing  .  .  .  Dorrie  .  .  .?" 

"It's  Dorrie;  but  nothing  bad.  Do  let's  go  in! 
The  damp  and  the  excitement  together  .  .  ." 

"But  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 

They  went  in — to  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing putting  her  head  into  the  study  on  the  way,  to 
tell  Adam  she  was  not  to  be  disturbed.  And  then, 
in  the  drawing-room,  Georgina  told  her  news. 

Mrs.  Vearing  was  fully  as  much  impressed  as 
Mrs.  Bonham  hoped  she  would  be,  and  fully  as 
much  excited  and  delighted. 

"My  dear  Georgina,  I  do  congratulate  you. 
And  Len  Fortescue  is  such  a  charming  young  fel- 
low." 

* '  He  is,  I  think ;  and  I  believe  him  to  be  steady 
and  all  that,  as  well.  I  could  not  let  Dorrie  marry 
anyone  who  wasn't  nice,  however  rich  or  influen- 
tial." 

' '  I  know  you  couldn  't, ' '  said  Mrs.  Vearing ;  and 
she  was  right ;  for  Georgina  was  worldly  wise  and 
not  worldly  foolish.  If  Len  had  been  a  drunkard 
or  a  gambler,  Georgina  would  not  have  allowed 
Dorrie  to  marry  him,  in  spite  of  his  mother  being 
Lady  Clementina  and  Holt  Hall  his  heritage. 

"I  shan't  say  a  word  about  it,"  Georgina  said, 
"till  it's  absolutely  settled." 

"I  shouldn't,"  agreed  Alicia. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  could  allow  a  regular  en- 
gagement— she's  so  young " 


214  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  stand  in  their  way!  Such  a 
darling  young  couple ! ' ' 

"Well,  we'll  see.  But  as  for  marriage — of 
course  it's  out  of  the  question  for  another  year  or 
two." 

"I  don't  like  long  engagements,"  said  Mrs. 
Vearing. 

"No,  but  you  must  remember  that  she  isn't  even 
out." 

"Being  out  doesn't  make  you  either  older  or 
younger. ' ' 

"That's  true.  But  she  is  only  seventeen.  I 
couldn  't  think  of  her  marrying  till  nineteen. ' ' 

1 '  She  '11  be  eighteen  in  September. ' '  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing counted  on  her  fingers.  "June,  July,  August, 
September.  Only  a  year  and  tour  months  till 
she's  nineteen." 

"Why  should  you  be  so  anxious  ..."  said 
Georgina. 

"I  can't  help,"  said  Alicia  deprecatingly,  "sym- 
pathizing with  love 's  young  dream. ' ' 

"You  are  so  sentimental,"  said  Georgina,  but 
with  a  smile. 

"We  can't  be  all  like  you,  dear  Georgina,  so 
wise  and  sensible." 

"Just  as  well,"  answered  Georgina,  but  se- 
cretly she  thought  that  the  world  would  be  a  more 
comfortable  and  well-ordered  place  if  everybody 
— all  women  at  any  rate — were  like  her. 

"How  excited  Mrs.  Pottlebury  will  be!"  This 
was  Mrs.  Vearing 's  next  remark. 

"Yes,  won 't  she !    But  I  shan  't  tell  her  yet. ' ' 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  215 

"N-no?"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  who  was  longing 
to  talk  over  Dome's  love  story  with  Patricia. 

Mrs.  Ludovic  Pottlebury  lived  in  Stottleham 
now.  The  first  three  years  of  her  married  life  had 
been  passed  in  London :  then  her  husband  had  been 
offered  the  post  of  Manager  of  the  Stottleham 
Branch  of  Messrs.  Currie  and  Co.'s  Bank,  and  he 
and  Patricia  and  two  little  Pottleburys  had  come 
to  settle  in  Stottleham. 

Mrs.  Vearing  saw  a  good  deal  of  Mrs.  Pottle- 
bury:  Mrs.  Bonham  was  friendly,  but  distant. 
Patricia  was  not  in  her  set,  and  she  could  not  ask 
her  to  meet  any  of  her  set.  So  Mrs.  Pottlebury 
was  occasionally  invited  to  lunch  to  meet  nobody, 
and  Mrs.  Bonham,  as  very  much  somebody,  oc- 
casionally took  tea  over  the  Bank  and  asked  the 
little  Pottleburys  how  old  they  were.  She  was 
thankful,  when  the  Pottleburys  dumped  themselves 
down  in  the  High  Street,  that  she  had  not  allowed 
Dorrie  to  be  bridesmaid  to  Mrs.  Pottlebury;  and 
now  that  Dorrie  was  engaged  to  an  earl's  grand- 
son she  was  more  thankful  than  ever. 

Patricia  accepted  the  quantity  and  quality  of 
friendship  meted  out  to  her  with  the  same  easy 
philosophy  with  which  she  had  always  accepted 
dear  Mrs.  Bonham 's  generosities  and  shortcom- 
ings. She  did  not  very  much  care  what  set  she 
was  in;  her  real  set  consisted  of  Ludovic  and  the 
little  Pottleburys;  and  anything  interesting  that 
occurred  in  the  best  set  was  reported  to  her  by 
Mrs.  Vearing.  She  had  longed  to  call  her  second 
little  girl,  born  in  Stottleham,  Doris ;  but  the  mem- 


216  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

ory  of  the  crushed  bridesmaid  dictated  the  substi- 
tution of  Dorothy;  Mrs.  Bonham  of  the  Beeches 
would  have  resented  the  presence  of  a  second 
Dorrie  at  number  three,  High  Street. 

"No,"  said  Georgina,  "I  shall  not  tell  Mrs. 
Pottlebury  till  the  engagement  is  officially  an- 
nounced. She  might  tell  Miss  Pottlebury,  and 
then  you  know  what  it  would  be.  I  shall  tell  no- 
body but  yourself  and,  of  course,  Dr.  Rayke." 

"Mrs.  Pottlebury  is  so  devoted  to  darling  Dor- 
rie. I  almost  think  she  might  be  hurt  if  she  did 
not  hear  a  little  bit  before  the  general  public." 

Mrs.  Bonham  mused. 

"Dorrie  shall  write  her  a  note,"  she  said,  "the 
day  before  the  announcement  appears  in  the 
'Times.'  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

What  was  Lady  Clementina  to  do!  There 
was,  or  so  it  seemed  to  her,  absolutely  noth- 
ing to  be  done.  She  had  begun  by  behaving 
as  if  she  approved,  or  at  any  rate  as  if  she  did  not 
disapprove;  and  having  accepted  a  daughter-in- 
law-that-is-to-be  kiss  from  Dorrie  (and  Lady  Clem- 
entina was  terribly  afraid  that  she  had  returned 
the  kiss),  how  could  she  stand  forth  in  the  light  of 
day  and  declare  that  she  was  opposed  to  the  mar- 
riage? 

She  couldn't;  she  felt  she  couldn't.  She  imag- 
ined how  Len  would  look  at  her,  and  how  Dorrie 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  217 

...  If  only  Dorrie  had  been  vulgarly  pretty,  or 
less  ingenuous,  or  a  trifle — even  a  trifle — afraid  of 
her,  she  might  possibly  have  screwed  herself  up 
into  appearing  the  tyrant  she  felt  like.  But 
Dorrie  was  delightful,  and,  far  from  being  afraid 
of  Lady  Clementina,  evidently  thought  Lady 
Clementina  delightful ;  and  if  a  person  was  delight- 
ful and  thought  you  delightful,  how  could  you  sud- 
denly reveal  that  you  were  not  delightful  and 
didn  't  think  she  was — especially  if  you  did !  Lady 
Clementina  became  so  confused  in  trying  to  catch 
the  tail  of  her  argument  in  the  mouth  of  her  con- 
duct, and  so  mixed  up  in  the  riddles  she  pro- 
pounded to  herself,  that  she  gave  up  trying  to  for- 
mulate excuses  or  a  plan  of  campaign,  and  lay — to 
use  her  own  despairing  metaphor — like  putty  in 
the  hands  of  fate. 

The  result  of  being  like  putty  was  that  she  found 
herself  moulded  into  the  form  which  seemed  to  Len 
and  Dorrie  appropriate  to  a  pleased  parent.  If 
they  wanted  anything,  a  picnic  or  fireworks  or 
whatever  it  might  be,  Len  asked  for  it  for  Dome's 
sake,  not  for  his  own;  and  Dorrie  asked  for  it  " be- 
cause of  our  engagement."  And  they  had  their 
picnics  and  they  had  their  fireworks,  and  Lady 
Clementina  was  acclaimed  as  an  angel  while  in- 
wardly she  felt  like  a  ravening  wolf. 

And  it  was  not  only  picnics :  she  had  to  do  bind- 
ing, irrevocable  things,  things  that  could  not  be 
disclaimed  or  explained  away.  She  found  herself 
writing  to  "Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,"  and  expressing 
all  sorts  of  sentiments  befitting  not  her  feelings 


218  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

but  the  occasion :  she  found  herself  announcing  the 
engagement  to  her  father  and  to  various  friends 
and  relations:  she  found  herself  espousing  Dor- 
rie's  cause  in  the  face  of  family  enquiries.  She 
had,  of  course,  to  do  that ;  for  if  Lady  Clementina 
chose  to  accept  Dorrie  (and  nobody  knew  that  she 
had  not  chosen),  what  business  was  it  of  anybody 
else's!  It  was  absurd  of  relations  to  suggest  that 
they  were  turning  up  their  noses,  when  they  did 
not  know  what  they  were  turning  them  up  at. 

"You  had  better  come  and  be  introduced,"  was 
Lady  Clementina's  rejoinder  to  doubts  more  or 
less  politely  expressed.  "For  my  part  I  am  per- 
fectly satisfied.  Len  has  family  and  money,  and 
what  I  put  before  everything  is  beauty  of  person 
and  charm  of  character."  Lady  Clementina  was 
so  much  pleased  with  this  phrase  that  she  put  it 
into  every  letter. 

In  answer  to  the  letters,  several  family  fiends, 
as  Lady  Clementina  was  accustomed  to  describe 
certain  of  her  relations,  did  come  to  be  introduced ; 
and  all  were  conquered ;  with  the  exception  of  one 
cousin  whom  Lady  Clementina  designated  the 
Horror,  and  the  Horror,  Lady  Clementina  de- 
clared, was  jealous,  because  she  had  always  wanted 
to  bring  about  a  marriage  between  Len  and  her 
hated  offspring.  To  think  of  the  offspring  and  to 
look  at  Dorrie  was  a  joy;  and  Lady  Clementina 
found  it  impossible  to  maintain  the  co-existence  of 
the  joy  thus  generated  and  of  the  ravening  wolf. 

Georgina,  meanwhile,  was  much  sought  after  at 
Stottleham.  Longing  for  Dorrie 's  return,  which 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  219 

was  put  off  owing  to  the  picnics  and  the  fireworks 
and  Len's  devotion  and  the  family  curiosity,  she 
was  able  nevertheless  fully  to  enjoy  the  renown 
of  Dome's  engagement;  and  after  the  announce- 
ment of  it  had  appeared  in  the  "Times"  and  the 
"Morning  Post,"  she  went  the  round  of  the  best 
set  tea-tables,  receiving  congratulations  and  talk- 
ing lightly  of  Lady  Clementina  and  Holt  Hall. 
Georgina  did  not  take  sugar  in  her  tea,  but  every 
cup  she  drank  was  sweetened  with  the  name  of 
Lady  Clementina  or  Lady  Clementina's  home.  As 
Miss  Pottlebury  at  the  time  of  Ludovic's  engage- 
ment had  referred  to  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  so  dear 
Mrs.  Bonham  referred  to  Lady  Clementina.  Only 
Mrs.  Bonham  was  much  more  casual  in  her  ref- 
erences than  Miss  Pottlebury  had  been,  and  Stot- 
tleham,  much  impressed  by  Dome's  engagement, 
was  most  impressed  by  the  fact  that  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  did  not  seem  impressed  at  all.  As  for 
Len's  grandfather,  the  earl,  Mrs.  Bonham  made 
very  light  of  him.  What  was  an  earl?  her  manner 
seemed  to  say.  Georgina,  indeed,  adopted  the 
tone  of  having  been  brought  up  on  earls;  and 
Stottleham  began  to  wonder  if  it  had  ever  hith- 
erto properly  appreciated  dear  Mrs.  Bonham. 


CHAPTER  X 

Dorrie  was  engaged,  but  she  was  not  to  be 
married  for  a  year  at  least  Her  marriage  and 
her  coming  out  would  practically  take  place  at 


220  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

the  same  time;  for  she  was  to  be  presented  at 
Court  immediately  after  her  marriage  by  Lady 
Clementina.  In  the  meantime  she  was  to  have  the 
finishing  touch  put  to  her  education  by  spending 
some  months  abroad  with  her  mother.  Georgina 
had  already  planned  to  take  her  to  France  and 
Germany,  and  the  plan  was  to  be  carried  out. 

It  meant  some  weeping  and  wailing  on  the  part 
of  Dorrie  and  Len.  To  be  parted  for  months! 
When  it  was  impossible  to  live  without  seeing  each 
other  every  day!  It  was  cruel  of  Mummy,  and 
hateful  of  Mother;  and  to  put  the  lovers  off  with 
letters,  was  to  show  that  neither  parent  had  ever 
been  in  love. 

They  might  have  been,  Dorrie  hazarded,  and  for- 
gotten, because  it  must  have  been  so  long  ago. 
But  Len  negatived  the  suggestion. 

" Shall  we  ever  forget?"  he  asked. 

And  Dorrie  immediately  recognized  the  folly  of 
her  excuse. 

But  it  was  of  no  use  to  weep  or  to  wail  or  to 
coax  or  to  storm.  Georgina  was  firm,  and  Lady 
Clementina,  who  had  thrown  away  her  initial 
chances  of  opposition,  seized  upon  this  one  and 
was  obdurate. 

The  only  one  who  was  heart  and  soul  with  Len 
and  Dorrie  was  Hannah,  whose  standard  of  what 
was  fitting  for  Dorrie  was  what  Dorrie  happened 
to  want.  But  who  was  Hannah?  Her  opinion 
was  not  even  asked — except  by  Dorrie.  And  how 
could  Hannah  approve  of  Dorrie  going  away, 
since  Hannah  was  to  be  left  at  home? 


LADY  CLEMENTINA  221 

It  had  occurred  to  Georgina  to  take  Hannah; 
because  she  was  trustworthy  and  handy  and  did 
not  mind  what  you  asked  her  to  do.  But  Hannah 
could  not  speak  French,  and  the  vision  of  the 
smart  French  maid,  which  had  dangled  itself  be- 
fore Georgina 's  mind  when  Dorrie  was  invited  to 
Holt  Hall,  returned,  and  so  forcibly  as  entirely  to 
outweigh  the  advantage  of  Hannah's  trustworthi- 
ness. 

So  Georgina  went  up  to  London  and  interviewed 
maids  who  were  accustomed  to  travel  and  who 
could  speak  in  tongues  unknown  to  Georgina,  and 
she  engaged  a  maid  who  was  French,  who  was  not 
young  enough  to  be  flighty  and  not  too  old  to  be 
smart,  and  who  spoke,  so  she  said,  both  English 
and  German  as  well  as  her  own  language. 

The  English  was  not  masterly. 

1  'But  we  don't  want  her  to  speak  English,"  said 
Georgina. 

4 'Except  to  us,  Mummy,"  said  Dorrie. 

* '  Oh,  she  understands  all  right,  and  that  is  what 
matters. ' ' 

So  it  was  all  arranged.  Len  spent  a  few  days  at 
the  Beeches  before  the  travellers  started,  and  he 
and  Dorrie  exchanged  all  sorts  of  presents  and 
vows. 

"You  won't  forget  me?"  Dorrie  asked  on  the 
last  evening. 

"Oh,  Dorrie,  how  can  you?" 

"Supposing  I  was  to  come  back 

1 '  How  silly !    As  if  you  could ! ' ' 

"But  supposing?" 


222  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I  should  love  yon,"  said  Len,  "if  you  were  as 
ugly  as  sin. ' ' 

1 '  So  should  I  you, ' '  said  Dorrie. 

That  was  the  sort  of  way  they  talked ;  and  they 
were  sometimes,  Lady  Clementina  said,  quite  silly 
even  before  people.  Lady  Clementina  thought 
them  silly,  but  not  so  silly  as  Georgina  thought 
them.  But  both  Lady  Clementina  and  Georgina, 
when  they  talked  of  their  silliness,  smiled. 


BOOK  V 
LEN  AND  DORRIE 

CHAPTER  I 

GEORGINA,  when  she  had  planned  to  take 
Dorrie  abroad,  had  not  done  so  with  the  idea 
that  Dorrie  should  be  amused  or  even  that  she 
should  become  acquainted  with  foreign  countries, 
but  with  the  sole  intention  that  she  should  learn 
French  and  perhaps  a  little  German.  The  six  or 
eight  months  on  the  Continent  were  to  prepare  her 
for  future  travelling  and  perhaps  for  a  winter 
abroad. 

And  Georgina  saw  no  reason  for  altering  her  ar- 
rangements. She  considered,  and  Rayke  consid- 
ered, that  the  classes  which  had  been  started  in 
Stottleham  after  Miss  Kimmidge  's  departure,  had 
provided  Dorrie  with  all  the  education  and  accom- 
plishments necessary  for  a  woman ;  but  Dorrie  had 
very  little  knowledge  of  foreign  languages,  and 
this  was  a  knowledge  which  Georgina  was  deter- 
mined she  should  possess. 

Rayke  was  doubtful  as  to  the  advantage  of 
knowing  French  and  quite  sure  that  nothing  was 
to  be  gained  by  knowing  German;  but  Georgina 
held  to  her  own  opinion,  Rayke  notwithstanding; 
and  now  that  Dorrie  was  going  to  be  an  earl's 
grand-daughter-in-law,  she  felt  it  to  be  more  nec- 

223 


224  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

essary  than  ever  that  she  should  be  able  to  speak 
tongues  other  than  her  own.  Who  could  tell  what 
circles  Dorrie  would  move  in?  Diplomatic  per- 
haps, and  it  would  never  do  for  her  not  to  be  able 
to  talk  to  foreign  ambassadors. 

So  Dorrie  was  informed  that  though  she  might 
write  to  Len  as  often  as  she  liked  and  receive  as 
many  letters  from  him  as  the  international  post 
could  convey,  she  must  give  a  portion  of  her  time 
and  a  proportion  of  her  attention  to  the  study  of 
the  French  language.  For  French  was  to  come 
first ;  French,  as  Georgina  said  to  Mrs.  Vearing  at 
her  farewell  tea,  was  essential.  As  for  German — 
well,  Georgina  would  see  how  much  time  there  was 
after  Dorrie  had  got  a  grip  of  French. 

"I  quite  agree,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "about  the 
French.  Besides,  it's  the  language  of  diploma- 
tists, as  you  say,  and  if  darling  Dorrie  should  have 
to  meet  such  bewildering  people.  ...  As  to  the 
German " 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Bonham.  "Pray  speak  out, 
Alicia,  if  you  have  any  suggestion  to  make. ' ' 

Mrs.  Vearing  spoke,  but  with  hesitating  diffi- 
dence. No,  she  had  no  suggestion;  she  only 
rather  felt,  with  Rayke,  that  German  was  hardly 
necessary. 

"Necessary  I  never  said,"  Georgina  corrected; 
"but  it's  an  advantage.  Besides,  I  believe  that 
Lady  Clementina  has  German  relations,  and  you 
never  know  .  .  .  in  the  future  ..." 

"You  are  so  far-seeing,  dear  Georgina,  and  you 
always  have  a  good  reason  for  everything." 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  225 

"If  a  woman  doesn't  know  how  to  do  the  best  for 
her  own  child,  she  can't  be  good  for  much," 
Georgina  said  graciously. 

Mrs.  Vearing  at  this  last  tea  was  inclined  to  be 
tearful,  and  when  Mrs.  Bonham  got  up  and  began 
to  say  good-bye,  she  actually  was  tearful. 

"What  shall  I  do  without  you  all  these  months? 
The  Guild  .  .  .  the  parish  .  .  .  and  our  pi  ... 
pleasant  intercourse  .  .  ." 

"My  dear  Alicia,  you  have  the  Vicar." 

"Dear  Adam!  yes,  but  I  ...  I  have  so  appre- 
ciated our  friendship." 

"And  I,  I  assure  you ;  and  to  leave  my  home  .  .  . 
Nothing  but  a  sense  of  duty  ..." 

' '  I  know,  I  know.    You  have  it  so  strong. ' ' 

"And  after  all,  Alicia,  it's  for — comparatively 
speaking — a  very  short  time.  In  June  at  latest,  I 
hope " 

"Promise  me,"  Mrs.  Vearing  broke  in,  "that 
you  will  come  to  the  Vicarage  as  soon  as  ever  .  .  . 
the  very  first  possible  moment  after  you  get  back ! " 

"How  absurd!"  said  Georgina,  but  she  prom- 
ised ;  and  she  kept  the  promise. 

Because  of  the  French  it  was  of  no  use  going  to 
hotels.  A  family  was  the  right  thing;  and  the 
right  thing  in  families  had  been  found  and  ar- 
ranged with  long  before  Georgina,  Dorrie,  and 
Augustine,  the  maid,  left  England. 

The  family  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  Paris,  near 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  because,  as  it  was  summer,  it 
was  necessary  to  be  where  the  air  was  fresh  and 
where  Dorrie  was  not  confined  for  walks  to  the 


226  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Paris  streets.  It  was  not  a  poor  family.  Geor- 
gina  eschewed  poverty;  it  was  so  uncomfortable, 
she  said,  when  people  had  nothing  to  live  on  but 
their  boarders.  She  insisted  upon  a  family  well 
enough  off  not  to  be  dependent  on  its  paying  guests, 
yet  willing  to  receive  guests  for  payment;  and 
when  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  insisted,  she  usually  got 
what  she  insisted  upon.  She  did  in  this  case. 

The  family  consisted  of  Monsieur,  Madame  and 
Mademoiselle.  Georgina,  looking  out  for  a  fam- 
ily, had  insisted  not  only  on  no  poverty,  but  on  no 
sons.  As  things  had  turned  out,  a  son,  or  even 
two  or  three  sons,  would  not  have  mattered;  but 
when  Georgina  had  started  on  the  quest,  there  had 
been  no  Len  to  guard  Dorrie  against  the  fascina- 
tions of  fortune-seeking  Frenchmen.  So  there 
was  only  Mademoiselle.  Dorrie  very  soon  called 
her  Clothilde,  and  she  called  Dorrie  Cherie.  Ma- 
dame, after  a  time,  called  her  Cherie  too,  and 
Monsieur  called  her  Mademoiselle  Charmante ;  and 
before  she  went  away  he  had  dropped  the  Made- 
moiselle and  substituted  "ma."  They  were  all 
what  Dorrie  called  "awfully  nice"  to  her,  and  they 
were  all  very  respectful  to  Georgina,  who,  finding 
herself  treated  with  deferential  consideration,  and 
Dorrie  regarded  with  enthusiastic  admiration,  was 
quite  satisfied  with  the  family  and  resigned  to  the 
life  she  was  leading.  She  wrote  to  Mrs.  Vearing 
that  it  was  quite  a  change,  and  though  of  course 
many  things  were  very  different  from  what  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  at  Stottleham,  she  could 
manage  for  a  time  to  put  up  with  it.  Especially 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  227 

as  dearest  Dorrie  was  getting  on  so  well  with  her 
French. 

The  French  was  certainly  a  success ;  owing  in  a 
great  measure  to  the  fact  that  Mademoiselle  was 
the  only  one  of  the  family  who  knew  English  and 
that  she  made  a  point  of  never  speaking  it  when 
she  was  speaking  to  Dorrie.  All  this  was  very 
excellent  for  Dorrie,  but  rather  dull  for  Georgina. 
Monsieur  and  Madame  knew  no  English  but " yes" 
and  "all  right,"  and  that  did  not  carry  them  far 
in  conversation.  This  inability  to  speak  English 
was,  indeed,  one  of  the  ways — and  they  were  many 
— in  which  Georgina  found  the  people  of  Paris 
inferior  to  the  people  of  Stottleham.  She,  herself, 
as  it  was  quite  impossible  to  talk  to  Mademoiselle 
all  day,  and  especially  when  Mademoiselle  was 
giving  Dorrie  French  lessons,  found  herself 
obliged  to  pick  up  a  little  French ;  and  was  able  to 
ask  for  pain  and  beurre,  and  sucre  and  eau  chaud 
—for  Georgina  would  not  realize  that  eau  be- 
longed to  the  eternal  feminine.  As  for  the 
French  maid,  Georgina  never  called  Augustine 
what  Augustine  called  herself,  but  pronounced 
her  name  as  is  pronounced  in  English  the  name 
of  the  saint. 

The  French  maid  was  one  of  the  few  people 
with  whom  Georgina  at  this  time  could  have  any 
conversation ;  but  the  conversation  was  restricted, 
partly  because  Augustine  was  a  maid,  and  Geor- 
gina considered  it  unseemly  to  talk  much  to  serv- 
ants, and  partly  because  Augustine's  English, 
though  unlimited  as  compared  with  Georgina 's 


228  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

French,  was  conspicuously  limited  as  compared 
with  Georgina's  English.  Georgina  constantly 
failed  to  follow  the  meaning  in  the  amazing  gram- 
mar and  construction  of  Augustine's  sentences, 
and  Augustine  as  frequently  failed  to  follow  the 
meaning  in  Georgina's  correctly  worded  com- 
mands and  observations. 

Augustine  was  undoubtedly  very  useful  in  shop- 
ping if  once  she  could  be  made  to  understand  what 
Georgina  wanted ;  but  it  was  rather  annoying  when 
Mrs.  Bonham  Required  shoes,  and  had  repeated 
carefully  to  Augustine:  "Shoe,  shoe,  shoe.  Do 
you  understand?"  to  be  conveyed  to  a  green- 
grocer's and  find  that  Augustine  was  purchasing 
cabbages.  Yet  this  sort  of  thing  occurred  fre- 
quently; and  it  was  no  compensation  to  Georgina 
— or  soon  ceased  to  be  one — that  Augustine  re- 
pented even  unto  tears,  exclaiming:  "My  God! 
how  I  am  beast ! ' ' 

"I  do  wish,  Augustine,"  Mrs.  Bonham  would 
remonstrate,  "that  you  would  not  say  you  under- 
stand if  you  do  not  understand. " 

"But  I  thought  to  understand,  and  ordinaire- 
ment  I  understand  all  Madame  say.  But  shoe — 
chou — so  words  in  so  tongues,  so  many — different, 

confusing,   the   same,   that   the   head   sometimes 
>> 

This  was  the  sort  of  English  that  Mrs.  Bonham 
found  almost  as  difficult  to  understand  as  French, 
and  when  Augustine  became  explanatory,  her  chief 
desire  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  conversation. 

Nevertheless  Augustine,  as  Georgina  wrote  to 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  229 

Mrs.  Vearing,  was  on  the  whole  satisfactory.  She 
was  neat  and  smart-looking  and  punctual  and 
good-tempered ;  and  as  Dorrie  was  soon  able  to  tell 
her  in  French  what  Madame  wanted,  Georgina 
ceased  to  suffer  to  any  great  extent  from  the  in- 
sufficiency of  her  English. 

''What  I  am  doubtful  about,"  Georgina  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Vearing,  "is  whether  her  German  is  any 
better  than  her  English.  And  if  we  go  to  Ger- 
many, it  will  be  very  awkward  if  she  cannot  speak 
the  language  properly. ' ' 

But  Augustine  on  this  point  was  emphatic. 

"My  German  vare  much  better  than  my  Eng- 
lish," she  asserted  with  vigour,  when  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  managed  to  convey  to  her  her  doubts.  "My 
German  like  my  proper  tongue." 

And  Georgina  could  not  test  her.  Only  time  and 
Germany  could  show. 


CHAPTER  II 

Dorrie  was  miserable  at  being  parted  from 
Len,  but  her  misery  did  not  bring  about  the 
continual  depression  which  she  felt  it  ought  to  have 
occasioned.  The  youth  in  her  was  frequently 
cheerful,  and  she  told  herself  it  was  horrid  of  her 
and  disloyal  to  Len,  not  realizing  that  the  youth  in 
Len  was  frequently  cheerful  too.  But  how  could 
she  fail  to  be  cheerful  when  Mummy  was  so  sweet, 
and  was  so  anxious  for  her  to  learn  French  as  to  be 
willing  to  put  up  with  Augustine's  English  and  all 


230  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

sorts  of  tiresome  foreign  ways!  And  as  for  dis- 
loyalty, she  was  not  really  disloyal,  since  she 
never  stopped  thinking  of  Len  except  sometimes 
when  she  was  learning  French,  and  she  had  to 
learn  French.  But  she  could  not  think  of  Len  and 
French  verbs,  especially  the  irregular  ones,  at  the 
same  time;  and  if — as  Mummy  pointed  out — she 
was  remembering  Len  when  she  ought  to  be  learn- 
ing French  verbs,  she  would  not  be  able  to  remem- 
ber French  verbs  when,  later  on,  she  was  travelling 
with  Len.  Perhaps  on  their  honeymoon!  Oh,  it 
was  impossible;  far,  far  too  wonderful  ever  to 
come  true.  But  it  made  the  verbs  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  horrid  grammar  which  she  had  never  been 
able  to  master  at  the  Stottleham  French  class  and 
could  not  master  now — it  made  it  all  seem  almost 
like  part  of  the  trousseau.  And  looked  at  in  that 
way,  it  was  all  right  to  be  happy. 

And  then,  besides  the  French  lessons,  there  were 
Monsieur  and  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  who  in- 
sisted upon  her  being  gay;  and  Monsieur  and 
Madame  had  friends  and  Mademoiselle  had 
friends;  and  the  friends  came  to  see  them  and 
were  delighted  with  Dorrie,  and  they,  also,  seemed 
to  think  she  ought  to  be  gay.  Amongst  the 
friends  there  were  of  course  men  as  well  as 
women,  and  men  of  all  ages ;  men  between  twenty 
and  thirty,  and  between  thirty  and  forty,  as  well 
as  men  on  the  way  to  fifty  and  beyond  it. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Len,  Georgina  would  have 
been  in  a  constant  fever  of  anxiety,  for  she  looked 
upon  all  Frenchmen  as  immoral  or  fortune-hunters 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  231 

or  both ;  and  it  was  obvious  that  every  one  of  the 
men  who  were  received  by  Madame  thought  Dorrie 
charming ;  and  that  some  thought  her  very  charm- 
ing indeed.  But  Len  was  a  complete  chaperon, 
never  to  be  eluded  and  always  on  duty.  So 
Georgina  breathed  with  freedom,  and  even  with  a 
certain  satisfaction.  She  did  not  care  twopence 
how  many  Frenchmen  fell  in  love  with  Dorrie,  pro- 
vided Dorrie  did  not  fall  in  love  with  a  single 
Frenchman;  it  was  rather  gratifying  to  see  their 
subjugation;  and  as  for  Dorrie  .  .  .  Georgina 
never  had  a  qualm.  She  knew  that  Len  filled 
Dome's  whole  male  horizon,  and  the  foreground 
as  well,  and  the  middle  distance. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  October  Dorrie  had  influenza.  It  was  not  a 
bad  attack,  but  it  was  sufficient  to  disturb  and 
excite  both  Georgina  and  the  French  family. 
Georgina  discussed  at  length  with  Mademoiselle  as 
to  how  Dorrie  could  have  caught  the  disease ;  but 
neither  of  them  arrived  at  any  conclusion ;  nor  did 
Monsieur  or  Madame,  nor  Augustine,  nor  the 
bonne  a  tout  faire.  The  one  thing  certain  was  that 
she  had  got  it,  and  a  doctor  had  to  be  called  in. 
"For  I  should  never  dream,"  wrote  Georgina  to 
Mrs.  Vearing,  "of  allowing  my  darling  Dorrie  to 
be  ill  without  seeing  a  doctor.  But  how  I  miss 
my  dear  friend,  Dr.  Rayke,  and  his  ever-ready  ad- 
vice, and  my  trusted  physician  at  home." 


232  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Dr.  Bechamel  turned  out  however  to  be  all  that 
even  Georgina  could  desire  in  respect  of  compe- 
tence, kindness  and  attention ;  and  it  was  wonder- 
ful (and  this  too  Georgina  wrote  to  Mrs.  Vearing) 
how  well  Dorrie  was  able  to  answer  his  enquiries 
in  French.  "She  put  out  her  tongue  at  once," 
wrote  Georgina,  "and  he  never  had  to  say  it  again 
or  point  to  it  or  make  signs  as  I  have  to  do  when 
I  speak  to  Augustine.  Sometimes  I  almost  wish 
I  had  brought  Hannah,  in  spite  of  her  teeth  and 
her  dowdiness,  but  when  we  come  to  move  further 
on,  no  doubt  we  shall  find  the  benefit  of  Augus- 
tine 's  French  and  German. ' ' 

Dr.  Bechamel  spoke  French  to  Dorrie,  but  if  he 
had  not  been  able  to  speak  English  to  Georgina, 
Georgina  would  have  insisted  upon  a  doctor  of  her 
own  nationality.  She  had  in  fact  wanted  to  call  in 
an  Englishman  before  Dr.  Bechamel  was  sum- 
moned, but  Dorrie  had  said  it  would  be  so  much 
more  amusing  to  be  ill — if  Mummy  would  have  it 
that  she  was  ill — in  French,  and  Georgina  had 
given  way.  Dr.  Bechamel's  English  was  not  per- 
fect, but  it  was  ever  so  much  better  than  Augus- 
tine's, and,  after  Augustine,  the  fact  that  Geor- 
gina could  understand  Dr.  Bechamel  and  Dr. 
Bechamel  could  understand  Georgina,  made  his 
deficiencies  seem  of  no  account. 

The  worst  of  Dorrie 's  illness — for  she  was  soon 
better — was  that  it  gave  Len  an  excuse  for  coming 
over. 

Having  seized  upon  the  excuse,  nothing  would 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  233 

induce  him  to  let  go  of  it  again.  He  told  Lady 
Clementina  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
settle  to  anything  unless  he  saw  for  himself  that 
Dorrie  was  all  right ;  and  he  wrote  the  same  thing 
to  Georgina;  while  Dorrie  on  her  side,  as  soon  as 
she  heard  that  there  was  the  slightest  chance  of 
Len's  coming  over,  declared  to  Mummy  and  wrote 
to  Lady  Clementina  that  she  was  quite  sure  she 
should  never  get  up  her  strength  unless  Len  were 
there  to  help  her  to  do  it.  So  he  came. 

"You  really  must  not  imagine,"  he  had  said  to 
his  mother,  "that  we  are  children  in  arms." 

"As  far  as  reasonableness  goes,"  answered 
Lady  Clementina,  "you're  barely  short-coated." 

"I  don't  see  any  unreasonableness  in  not  want- 
ing to  be  everlastingly  separated  from  a  person 
you're  as  good  as  married  to." 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  said  Lady  Clementina, 
"that's  the  point." 

"Mothers,"  said  Len  to  Dorrie  after  he  had  ar- 
rived in  Paris,  "think  you  are  a  sort  of  infant  till 
you're  eighty." 

"Yes,  Mummy  never  realizes  how  old  I  am.  I 
suppose  they  can't  help  it,"  answered  Dorrie. 
She  added:  "But  I'm  sure  they  mean  to  be  nice." 

' '  Oh,  they  're  nice  all  right.     Only  so  absurd. ' ' 

By  the  time  Len  arrived,  Dorrie  was  looking 
almost  quite  well. 

"I  wasn't  really  ill,  you  know,"  she  told  him. 
"But  Mummy  wanted  me  to  go  to  bed  so  badly  that 
I  went.  She's  been  so  sweet — about  my  learning 


234  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

French  and  all  that,  and  I  know  she  doesn't  really 
like  being  abroad  a  bit — that  I  felt  I  must  do  some- 
thing in  return. ' ' 

"I  think  it's  rotten,"  said  Len,  " coming  abroad 
when  she  doesn't  want  to  come,  and  you  don't  want 
to  come,  and  7  don't  want  you  to  come." 

1 1 It's  so  that  I  can  talk  to  foreigners  if  we  meet 
them  after  we  're  married, ' '  Dorrie  explained. 

"If  a  fellow  can't  talk  English  I'm  sure  7  don't 
want  to  talk  to  him,  and  I  shouldn't  think  you 
would. ' ' 

Dorrie  had  rather  liked  talking  to  the  French- 
men who  had  so  very  much  liked  talking  to  her,  but 
she  did  not  say  so :  she  felt  at  the  moment  as  if  she 
ought  not  to  have  liked  it  at  all. 

"You  almost  have  to  talk  to  them  sometimes  if 
you  're  in  their  country, ' '  she  said.  * '  If  you  travel, 
for  instance. ' ' 

"Depends  on  who  you're  travelling  with.  If 
you  and  I  were  together  ...  we  shouldn't  want  to 
talk  to  anybody  except  each  other. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Dorrie,  "of  course  not.  Except  to 
order  things." 

"You  needn't  bother  about  that:  all  waiters 
speak  English." 

"Perhaps  in  out-of-the-way  places  ..." 

"Then  we  wouldn't  go  to  out-of-the-way 
places." 

At  that  they  both  laughed.  It  still  took  very 
little  to  make  them  laugh. 


LEN  AND  DOREIE  235 


CHAPTER  IV 

It  was  dreadful  when  Len  went  away;  dreadful, 
Dorrie  felt,  for  Dorrie,  but  much  worse,  Georgina 
felt,  for  Georgina. 

" That's  just  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  Georgina 
said, ' '  that  his  coming  would  upset  you. ' ' 

"It  isn't  his  coming,"  said  Dorrie  tearfully; 
"it's  his  going." 

"That's  what  I  mean.  If  he  came,  of  course  he 
had  to  go." 

"He  needn't  have,  Mummy,  if  he'd  stayed  on." 

' '  Really,  darling,  you  are  absurd.  How  could  he 
stay!" 

It  seemed  to  Dorrie  that  it  would  have  been  quite 
easy;  but  it  was  no  use  arguing  with  Mummy, 
especially  as  Len's  departure  was  an  accomplished 
fact;  so  what  she  said  was: 

1 1  Must  I  learn  German  when  I  know  French ! ' ' 

And  to  this  Georgina  replied:  "We'll  see." 

Georgina  when  she  said,  "We'll  see,"  knew 
quite  well  what  they  would  see.  Germany  had 
been  already  decided  upon  by  the  two  mammas; 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  language,  for  Georgina  was 
willing  to  waive  the  language,  and  Lady  Clemen- 
tina did  not  care  two  brass  farthings  whether 
Len's  charming,  unwelcome  little  bride  knew  Ger- 
man or  not,  but  for  the  sake  of  an  excuse  to  keep 
the  lovers  apart.  Len  had  an  examination  to  pass 
and  he  would  not  settle  down  to  work  if  Dorrie 
were  about:  of  that  Lady  Clementina  was  quite 


236  THE  THUNDEKBOLT 

sure.  As  for  Dorrie,  she  would  settle  to  nothing 
if  Len  were  about:  of  that  Georgina  was  equally 
sure. 

And  hanging  and  hovering  about,  Len  was  sure 
to  be.  He  was  supposed  to  be  eating  dinners  at 
Lincoln's  Inn,  for  he  was  to  have  a  profession, 
though  he  was  not  to  practise  it.  But  what  was  a 
dinner  now  and  again?  Except  for  those  dinners 
Georgina  knew  that  he  would  board  and  perhaps 
lodge  at  the  Beeches ;  and  if  not,  Dorrie  would  be 
boarding  and  lodging  at  Holt  Hall.  Alicia  Vear- 
ing  had  been  quite  right;  an  engagement  of  any 
length  was  most  undesirable ;  but  while  it  lasted — 
and  it  had  to  last,  at  any  rate  till  the  following 
summer — the  only  possibility  of  peace  was  to  keep 
the  Straits  of  Dover,  if  not  a  larger  sea,  between 
Len  and  Dorrie.  Georgina  would  have  preferred 
the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

So  Germany  was  really  a  foregone  conclusion, 
though,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  Dorrie  amused  by 
travelling  about,  it  was  not  to  be  all  Germany;  it 
was  to  be  Belgium  and  Holland  to  begin  with  and 
Germany  for  a  couple  of  months  or  so  at  the  end. 
In  her  heart  Georgina  looked  forward  to  Germany ; 
it  was  too  far  off  for  Len  to  run  over.  And  she 
did  not  want  Len;  she  wanted  Dorrie  all  to  her- 
self ;  and  if  she  could  not  send  Len  away,  she  could 
at  any  rate  take  away  Dorrie.  Long  ago  she  had 
disposed  of  Nurse  by  turning  her  into  Hannah. 
She  could  not  turn  Len  into  anything — except  a 
husband;  and  though  she  wished  him  to  be  Dor- 
rie 's  husband,  she  wished  intensely  that  he  should, 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  237 

at  any  rate  till  he  was  her  husband,  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  Dome's  mother.  If  Dome's  engagement 
had  been  broken  off,  Georgina  would  have  been 
miserable,  but  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 

Once  upon  a  time  Dorrie  had  outgrown  Nurse, 
and  Georgina  had  been  pleased :  then  she  had  out- 
grown Miss  Kimmidge,  and  Georgina  had  not  been 
displeased:  and  now  she  had  outgrown  Georgina, 
and  Georgina — Georgina  found  it  hard  to  give  way 
to  Len,  even  though  he  was  an  earl's  grandson. 
But  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  did  not  think  that 
Dorrie  really  could  outgrow  her:  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  she  thought  she  could  not  by  anybody 
be  outgrown.  Of  course  just  now  .  .  .  but  later 
on,  when  Dorrie  had  married  and  settled  down, 
Georgina  expected  to  be  rather  to  the  fore.  She 
remembered  that  after  a  few  months  with  Theo- 
dore it  had  been  rather  a  relief  to  go  home  for  a 
little  without  him :  Dorrie  no  doubt  would  find  the 
same  thing.  In  the  meantime,  from  every  point  of 
view,  Germany,  preceded  by  travelling  in  Belgium 
and  Holland,  was  advisable. 


CHAPTER  V 

So  to  Germany  they  went.  But  not  straight  to 
Germany,  not  till  February,  and  not  till  Len  had 
run  over  again.  This  time  it  was  because  of  his 
birthday.  His  birthday  was  in  January,  and  it 
was  absolutely  necessary,  as  he  had  gone  to  Holt 
Hall  for  Christmas,  that  he  should  go  to  Paris  for 


238  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

his  birthday.  Lady  Clementina,  on  one  side  of 
the  Straits  of  Dover,  gave  way;  Georgina,  on  the 
other  side,  gave  way  too.  For  one  thing  it  was 
no  use  not  giving  way;  Len  would  have  come  all 
the  same ;  and  then,  the  Germany  Bill  having  been 
carried,  it  was  possible  to  accept  the  Birthday 
Amendment. 

So  there  was  Len ;  in  and  out  of  the  flat  all  day ; 
talking  the  vilest  French  to  Monsieur  and 
Madame,  and  the  latest  English  slang  to  Made- 
moiselle; very  much  the  son-in-law  to  Georgina, 
and  overwhelmingly  the  lover  to  Dorrie.  Not  that 
Dorrie  found  him  overwhelming,  but  everybody 
else  did. 

" Mummy,"  said  Dorrie,  " we've  hit  upon  a  most 
delightful  plan.  It's  that  my  birthday  is  to  be 
our  wedding  day.  You  said  I  wasn't  to  be  mar- 
ried till  I  was  nineteen,  and  so  I  shan't  be;  and 
yet  all  thr  time  I  am  nineteen  I  shall  be  married. ' ' 

"You  can't  fix  days  so  long  before,"  said  Geor- 
gina. ''It  may  be  on  a  Sunday." 

"Oh,  but  it  isn't.  We've  looked  it  up  and  it's 
a  Wednesday — as  near  the  middle  of  the  week  as 
it  could  be. ' ' 

"We'll  see,"  said  Georgina. 

"Len  wants  my  veil  to  be  net,  not  lace,"  Dorrie 
went  on. 

"I  don't  want  a  bit  of  pattern  coming  over  her 
face,"  said  Len. 

"A  twirligig  on  my  nose,"  laughed  Dorrie. 
"Only  if  it  was  red  .  .  .?" 

"You  never  had  a  red  nose  in  your  life,"  said 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  239 

Len.  He  turned  to  Monsieur,  who  had  come  into 
the  room  and  who  was  evidently  trying  to  under- 
stand by  means  of  his  eyes  something  of  the  con- 
versation that  his  ears  could  not  convey  to  him. 
"Mademoiselle,"  said  Len,  holding  his  nose, 
"jamais  rouge." 

"But  no,  Monsieur,"  said  Monsieur,  "certainly 
Mademoiselle  has  no  occasion  to  rouge.  Made- 
moiselle has  the  complexion  of  an  angel." 

'  *  He — er — what  does.he  say  ? ' '  asked  Len. 

"He  says  I  don't  need  to  rouge." 

"What  an  old  idiot!  Of  course  not.  Non, 
non,"  said  Len  to  Monsieur,  "pas — pas — what  the 
dickens  is  cheeks!  Joues,  did  you  say!  Pas 
joues,  nay — nay.  Nay,  nay,  nay.  Comprenez!" 

It  was  evident  that  Monsieur  did  not  "com- 
prenez":  Dorrie  was  obliged  to  explain. 

"Doesn't  understand  his  own  language,  the  old 
rotter,"  said  Len. 

"But  it  isn't  quite  his  language,"  said  Dorrie. 
"You  say  it  so  funnily,  Len,  even  when  you  get  the 
words  right." 

"Well,  he  evidently  means  well  from  the  way 
he  looks  at  you,  so  tell  him  it's  all  right." 

This  was  the  way  in  which  Len  spoke  French 
to  Monsieur  and  Madame;  but  Monsieur  and 
Madame  thought  him  a  charmant  garqon,  and  so 
did  Mademoiselle ;  and  they  all  agreed  that  he  was 
well  suited  to  that  chere  petite  and  almost  worthy 
of  her. 

He  was  very  attentive  to  Georgina  and  listened 
to  all  she  had  to  say  about  Dorrie  and  to  all  the 


240  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

advice  she  gave  him.  The  advice  rather  bored 
him,  but  he  listened  all  the  same,  and  he  was  never 
bored  when  Mrs.  Bonham  talked  about  Dorrie. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  evening  before  Len  went  back  to  England, 
some  friends  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  gave  a 
ball.  Monsieur  and  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
were  all  invited,  and  so  were  Georgina  and  Dorrie 
and  Len.  Georgina  did  not  want  to  go;  she 
thought  it  would  not  be  quite  the  right  thing  for 
Dorrie,  who  had  never  been  to  a  ball  before,  and 
was  not  properly  "out,"  and  too  exhausting  for 
Len  just  before  his  journey.  But  Dorrie  and  Len 
insisted  upon  accepting  the  invitation;  that  is  to 
say  that  they  coaxed  and  teased  till  Georgina 
gave  way. 

"It's  just  because  I've  never  been  to  a  ball  that 
I  ought  to  go,"  said  Dorrie. 

"It  would  be  rather  absurd  if  Dorrie  had  never 
been  to  anything  grown  up  before  she 's  married, ' ' 
said  Len. 

"Especially  when  I  am  grown  up — eighteen. 
Why,  Vera  Marsden ' 

"And  Gwen  Saunders-Parr!"  added  Len. 

Mrs.  Bonham 's  usual  fir-mness  broke  down  under 
the  repeated  attacks  made  upon  .her  in  the  char- 
acter of  mother  and  mother-in-law:  she  accepted 
the  ball,  and  ordered  an  evening  dress  for  Dorrie 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  241 

—the  first  real  grown-up  evening  dress  Dorrie  had 
ever  had. 

It  was  a  most  beautiful  dress,  so  they  all  agreed, 
down  to  the  bonne  a  tout  faire,  who  waited  on  at 
the  flat  to  see  Mademoiselle  attired  in  it.  It  was 
white,  of  course,  and  what  the  dressmaker  called 
' '  tres  simple ' '  and  '  *  tres  jeune  fille  " ;  but  to  Dorrie 
it  was  a  wonder  of  the  dressmaking  art  and  to 
Len  the  garment  of  an  angel — when  Dorrie  wore 
it;  while  everyone  else  agreed  that  it  was  exactly 
suited  to  Dorrie  and  the  occasion. 

' '  How  it  becomes  her ! ' '  said  Madame,  and  Geor- 
gina,  when  Madame 's  remark  was  translated  to 
her,  smiled  at  Madame  and  agreed. 

"I  really  think  it  does." 

"La  petite  est  charmante,"  remarked  Monsieur, 
and  Len,  catching  a  word  he  recognized,  repeated : 
"Charmong,  charmong,  charmong." 

Mrs.  Bonham  and  Madame  sat  together  during 
a  large  part  of  the  evening,  and  whenever  Dorrie 
came  to  them  or  passed  near  them,  Madame  made 
appreciative  remarks.  Georgina  did  not  under- 
stand the  remarks,  but  she  understood  the  speech 
of  Madame 's  face  and  the  look  in  her  eyes,  and 
was  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  of  Stottleham  in  her  most 
gracious  mood. 

Dorrie  was  radiant,  in  spirits  and  in  beauty. 
She  said  she  was  going  to  forget  disgusting  to- 
morrow, and  she  did.  Len  delighted  in  dancing 
with  her,  and  when  he  was  not  dancing  with  her, 
he  had  the  delight  of  looking  at  her  dancing  with 
somebody  else.  He  was  not  a  bit  jealous  of  her 


242  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

dancing  with  other  men,  because  he  knew  quite 
well  that  she  would  much  rather  be  dancing  with 
him;  and  she  danced  with  him,  of  course,  more 
than  with  all  the  others  put  together. 

There  were  many  people  that  evening  who 
looked  at  and  admired  Dorrie;  many  women  who 
envied  Mrs.  Bonham  her  daughter,  many  men  who 
envied  Len  his  bride.  Georgina  knew  it,  and  Len 
knew  it,  and  Monsieur  and  Madame  and  Made- 
moiselle knew  it ;  but  Dorrie  knew  nothing  except 
that  it  was  lovely  to  dance  with  Len,  and  that  she 
was  enjoying  herself  immensely. 

It  was  only  quite  towards  the  end  of  the  ball 
that  Dorrie  stopped  enjoying  herself.  Then  to- 
morrow, which  was  already  indeed  to-day,  thrust 
in  its  importunate  face  and  made  Dome's  face 
wistful. 

1 1  If  only  you  weren  't  going,  Len ! ' ' 

"I  shall  come  back — or  rather  you  will  come 
back.  And  then " 

"And  then " 

"It  will  make  up  for  everything,"  said  Len. 

"Yes,"  Dorrie  whispered  back,  "for  every- 
thing." 

They  stood  in  a  little  alcove  by  themselves,  look- 
ing into  each  other's  faces.  Dorrie  was  above 
middle  height,  but  Len  was  taller  than  she  by  a 
head,  and  while  she  looked  up,  he  looked  down. 
And  looking  down,  he  thought  her  just  perfect. 
That  was  the  picture  of  her  he  took  away  with 
him,  that  was  how  he  always,  in  thinking  of  her, 
saw  her:  in  her  white  dress,  with  the  pinkest  of 


LEN  AND  DORRIE  243 

soft  pink  cheeks,  the  most  golden  of  hair,  the  bluest 
of  eyes :  and  in  her  eyes  the  love  light. 

They  were  wonderfully  happy,  looking  through 
the  glamour  of  love  into  the  glory  of  being  always 
together;  and  they  thought  themselves  miserable 
because  before  the  everlasting  union  there  stood 
the  dull  months  of  parting.  But  they  were  far 
more  happy  than  miserable. 

Georgina,  from  without  the  alcove,  caught  sight 
of  them,  and  was  more  convinced  than  ever  that 
she  was  right  about  Germany. 

1  'This  sort  of  thing,"  she  thought,  " would  be 
impossible  without  a  break.  And  when  we  do  get 
back  to  England  there  will  be  the  trousseau  to  take 
up  some  of  Dorrie's  attention." 

The  next  day  Len  went  back  to  England,  and  a 
fortnight  later  Georgina  and  Dorrie  set  out  on  the 
way  to  Germany. 


BOOK  VI 
GERMANY 

CHAPTER  I 

DORRIE  set  out  for  Germany  with  an  unwill- 
ing heart;  and  after  all,  when  at  last  she 
got  there,  she  rather  liked  it.  She  liked  it  partly 
because  it  came  at  the  end  of  her  exile ;  at  any  rate 
when  she  got  as  far  as  Germany  she  had  not  to  go 
any  farther;  whereas  all  the  time  she  was  in  Bel- 
gium and  Holland  she  was  going  farther  and 
farther  away  from  Len.  Had  she  had  an  ounce 
of  rebellion  in  her,  she  must  have  rebelled;  but 
there  was  nothing  of  the  rebel  in  Dorrie.  When 
she  was  not  delighted — and  her  normal  attitude 
was  delight — she  was  pitiful;  but  always — or 
so  Georgina  thought — sweet.  And  because  she 
was  so  sweet,  Georgina  could  not  bear  to  see 
her  pitiful.  Rebellion  she  could  have  withstood, 
as  the  people  of  Stottleham,  within  and  without 
her  own  set,  knew.  Dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  it  had 
often  been  remarked,  would  stand  no  nonsense. 
But  pitifulness  was  another  thing. 

So  when  Dorrie  said :  "What  a  long  way  we're 
going,  Mummy ! ' '  Georgina  felt  for  the  moment  as 
if  she  could  hardly  carry  the  trip  through.  And 
when  Dorrie  said:  "It's  such  a  long  time, 
Mummy,"  she  was  weak  enough  (she  told  herself 

245 


246  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

it  was  weakness)  to  shorten,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  the  period  she  had  intended  to  spend  in 
Germany  and  to  promise  Dorrie  that  they  would 
go  back  to  England  in  June  instead  of  July.  But 
it  was  worth  while  to  be  weak,  for  Dorrie  was  so 
radiantly  grateful  and  called  her  a  heavenly  Mum. 

The  shortening  of  the  time,  together  with  the 
fact  that  from  Germany  they  were  to  go,  except 
for  a  week  in  Paris,  straight  home,  made  Germany 
seem  not  dreadful  after  all.  And  then  there  were 
Lady  Clementina's  relations.  For  Lady  Clemen- 
tina, as  Mrs.  Bonham  had  been  inclined  to  suppose, 
had  German  relations. 

Len's  grandfather's  sister  had  married  a  Ger- 
man, and  become  a  German  baroness ;  but  though 
she  was  a  German  baroness  she  had  remained 
extremely  English,  and  the  Baron  had  generally 
spoken  English  to  her  because  she  spoke  German 
so  badly.  She  had,  however,  a  daughter  and  sev- 
eral sons,  and  they  were  all  quite  German  like  the 
Baron  and  not  a  bit  English  like  the  Baroness. 
The  daughter,  who  was  born  a  baroness,  married 
a  Graf  and  became  a  Grafin ;  and  it  was  this  Grafin 
who  caused  Dorrie  to  like  Germany.  The  Grafin 's 
brothers  were  all  officers  in  the  Prussian  army, 
and  since  the  Baroness's  death  Lady  Clementina 
knew  nothing  about  them:  she  said  she  really 
could  not  be  bothered  with  Prussian  officers.  But 
the  Grafin  and  her  husband  had  come  to  England 
and  had  been  invited  to  Holt  Hall;  and  Lady 
Clementina  had  liked  the  Grafin  and  continued 
to  write  to  her  after  she  returned  to  Germany. 


GERMANY  247 

In  one  of  her  letters  Lady  Clementina  had  men- 
tioned that  Len's  little  fiancee  was  going  to  Ger- 
many; and  the  Grafin  had  answered  the  letter 
much  sooner  than  she  usually  answered  Lady 
Clementina's  letters  and  said  that  she  wished 
above  al]  things  to  see  the  bride,  and  would  her 
dear  cousin  send  her  the  bride's  mother's  address 
at  once  ? 

The  Grafin  lived  in  a  castle  in  Silesia,  and 
Dorrie,  when  the  invitation  came  to  stay  with  the 
Graf  and  Grafin,  thought  it  would  be  lovely  to  stay 
in  a  castle.  So  did  Georgina.  And  the  castle — 
with  the  Count  and  Countess  inside  it — would 
serve  as  a  variant  to  Holt  Hall  at  the  Stottleham 
tea-parties. 

Dorrie  would  infinitely  rather  have  had  Len 
than  the  castle,  but  as  she  could  not  have  Len — 
for  the  next  month  or  two,  and  had  to  go  to  Ger- 
many— she  thought  the  castle  and  the  Grafin  and 
the  Grafin 's  two  daughters,  who  were  also  Grafins, 
would  be  much  nicer  than  anything  else.  On  the 
way  she  doubted,  because  the  way  was  such  a  very 
long  way ;  but  when  Mummy  promised,  faithfully 
promised,  that  she  should  see  England — which  of 
course  meant  Len — before  the  end  of  June,  she 
felt  ever  so  much  better,  and  went  to  bed  at 
Dresden  with  rather  a  headache  but  quite  a  light 
heart. 


248  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

CHAPTER  II 

Dorrie  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  she  arrived  at  the 
hotel,  for  she  had  had  a  long  day  in  the  train  and 
she  did  not  like  trains.  So  she  had  tea  and  a  roll 
and  butter  and  an  egg  brought  up  to  her  bedroom, 
and  ate  the  egg  and  drank  the  tea  while  Augustine 
unpacked  what  was  needed  for  the  night. 

Georgina  was  tired  too,  but  she  wanted  her 
dinner,  so  she  descended  to  the  dining-room,  where 
she  had  a  little  table  to  herself  and  half  a  bottle 
of  white  wine  and  tried  all  the  dishes  that  were 
served  at  the  table  d'hote.  She  missed  Dorrie, 
but  was  quite  comfortable  about  her,  and  Geor- 
gina  was  never  lonely  at  meals.  She  was  not 
amongst  the  people  who  read  at  a  solitary  repast. 
1  'When  I  eat,"  she  had  remarked  at  a  Guild  Meet- 
ing, the  question  of  meals  having  arisen,  "I  give 
my  whole  attention  to  my  food.  I  consider  it  so 
much  better  for  the  digestion";  and  the  remark 
had  been  received  with  approval.  It  was  so  prac- 
tical, quite  in  keeping  with  dear  Mrs.  Bonham's 
habitual  good  sense. 

At  the  Dresden  table  d'hote,  Georgina  was  still 
dear  Mrs.  Bonham.  Hers  was  a  consciousness 
which  was  never  merged  in  an  outside  atmosphere 
or  affected  by  the  consciousness  of  other  personali- 
ties. As  in  England,  so  she  was  in  Germany:  the 
Mrs.  Bonham  who,  in  the  drawing-room  at  the 
Beeches,  consulted  with  Dr.  Rayke,  was  changed 
no  whit  as  she  sat  in  the  dining-room  of  the 


GERMANY  249 

Dresden  hotel  and  observed,  between  the  courses, 
her  fellow-diners. 

The  room  was  fairjy  full,  and,  to  Georgina,  the 
people  who  filled  it  looked  all  much  alike.  "  Just 
all  Germans,"  she  said  to  herself.  She  thought 
them  plain  in  appearance  and  she  did  not  like  the 
way  they  ate.  '  *  Some  of  the  men, ' '  she  wrote  to 
Mrs.  Vearing, ' '  actually  tucked  their  table  napkins 
under  their  chins — like  children  with  bibs.  So  ill- 
bred  and  un-English ! ' ' 

The  man  at  the  table  facing  Georgina 's  table  did 
this.  He  was  the  only  man  of  his  party,  the  four 
others  being  women.  Germans,  evidently,  all  of 
them,  thought  Georgina,  who  gave  them  her  atten- 
tion while  she  was  waiting  for  the  chicken  and 
salad.  No,  she  considered,  after  the  chicken,  there 
was  one  woman  who  might  have  been  an  ordinary 
Englishwoman;  the  word  " ordinary"  was  praise 
from  Georgina.  And  the  man  himself,  with  his 
abominable  table  napkin,  he  was  not  perhaps  dis- 
tinctively German-looking  after  all  "when  you 
looked  into  him."  Georgina  looked  into  him  be- 
tween the  chicken  and  the  ice  pudding,  and  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  might  almost  be  a 
Frenchman.  The  short  dark  beard,  the  olive  skin, 
and  the  quick  movements.  .  .  .  Then  the  ice  pud- 
ding came,  and  Georgina  proceeded  to  eat  it. 

After  the  ice  and  the  grapes  and  the  biscuits, 
Georgina  interviewed  Augustine,  who,  according 
to  instructions,  was  waiting  outside  the  dining- 
room  door.  Mees  was  in  bed,  reported  Augustine, 


250  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

and  fast  asleep ;  nothing  could  be  more  satisfactory 
than  the  condition  of  Mees. 

Georgina,  therefore,  went  on  to  the  drawing- 
room.  She  could  not  go  to  bed  immediately  after 
her  dinner,  and  there  might  be  an  English  paper. 
At  any  rate,  as  Dorrie  did  not  want  her,  she  would 
see,  especially  as,  if  she  went  upstairs,  it  was  ten 
to  one  but  she  would  find  that  Augustine  had  not 
taken  out  her  patience  cards. 


CHAPTER  III 

There  was  an  English  paper,  a  copy  of  the 
' '  Times. ' '  It  was  nearly  a  week  old,  but  Georgina 
seized  upon  it  with  avidity:  it  was  delightful  in 
Dresden  to  be  able  to  read  the  "Times." 

She  read  with  joy  the  births,  deaths  and  mar- 
riages ;  she  skipped  the  leading  articles,  glanced  at 
the  correspondence  and  the  police  news  and  was 
proceeding  to  forthcoming  marriages  and  recent 
engagements,  when  a  most  annoying  and  also  quite 
painful  thing  happened.  A  fly  or  a  gnat  or  a 
midge  or  a  speck  of  dirt  or  one  of  her  own  eye- 
lashes got  into  Georgina 's  left  eye.  Georgina 
rubbed  her  eyelid,  and  it  did  no  good :  she  took  out 
her  handkerchief  and  wiped  away  the  gathering 
moisture,  and  it  did  no  good :  she  twisted  a  corner 
of  the  handkerchief  and  tried  to  pass  it  between 
the  upper  and  lower  lids,  and  still  it  did  no  good. 

Then  she  heard  a  voice. 


GERMANY  251 

"Pardon,  Madame!  There  is  into  yonr  eye 
something  entered.  Not?" 

Georgina  started,  and  with  the  one  uninjured 
eye  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  which  was, 
indeed,  almost  in  front  of  her.  And  there,  look- 
ing at  her  with  keen  dark  eyes,  was  the  man  of  the 
table  napkin,  who  had  faced  her  at  table  d'hote. 

Georgina  hesitated.  She  had  a  hazy  sense  that 
some  sort  of  introductory  formula  should  have 
taken  place  or  should  take  place  now:  her  mental 
attitude  would  have  been  expressed  by  the  words : 
I  am  Mrs.  Bonham  of  Stottleham.  Who  are  you! 
though  even  in  her  mind  she  did  not  frame  those 
words. 

"I — I »»  she  began;  then  the  pain  caused  by 

the  midge  or  the  dust  or  the  eyelash  caused  her  to 
waive  ceremony.     "Yes,  there  is,"  she  said. 

"I  am  doctor,"  said  the  man.     "Allow!" 

And  before  she  could  allow  or  disallow,  he  had 
turned  back  the  upper  lid  of  her  eye  and  removed 
the  cause  of  her  discomfort. 

Georgina  blinked.  The  eye  still  smarted  a  little, 
and  watered. 

"It  is  all  right.    In  a  minute  the  pain  is  over." 

The  man  smiled  at  her  with  a  beneficent  smile : 
Georgina,  in  the  relief  that  she  was  now  beginning 
to  feel,  smiled  faintly  back. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said.  "I'm  sure 
I'm  ...  it  was  most  kind  of  you." 

"Such  small  things  occasion  much  suffering.  It 
is  nothing." 

With  a  swift  movement  the  benefactor  drew  a 


252  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

case  from  his  pocket,  took  a  card  from  the  case 
and  handed  it  to  Georgina  with  a  bow.  He  had  a 
sense  of  the  formalities  then  after  all. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Georgina,  "that  I  haven't 
a  card  down  here.  Perhaps  in  the  morning  ..." 

Her  tone  verged  on  cordiality ;  she  had  forgotten 
the  table  napkin. 

"It  makes  nothing,"  said  the  man,  and  bowed. 

"My  name,"  said  Georgina,  "is  Mrs.  Bonham." 

Again  the  man  bowed.  "It  makes  me  pleasure 
to  assist,"  he  said,  and  turned  away. 

Georgina  returned  to  the  "Times,"  or  tried  to 
return,  but  the  incident  had  diminished  her 
interest  in  the  recent  engagements.  Did  all 
Germans,  she  asked  herself,  suddenly  assist 
strangers?  She  tried  to  think  how  an  English 
doctor  would  have  behaved  in  the  circumstances, 
but  she  could  not  recall  any  instance  of  having 
had  a  fly  in  her  eye  in  the  presence  of  an  unknown 
doctor.  Then  she  found  herself  wondering  who 
this  unknown — to  her  unknown — German  doctor 
might  be.  She  did  not  like  to  look  at  his  card 
there,  in  the  drawing-room ;  she  must  wait  till  she 
got  upstairs.  In  the  meantime  she  glanced  every 
now  and  again  towards  that  corner  of  the  room 
where,  talking  to  a  little  group  of  people,  he  paced 
up  and  down.  He  seemed  to  her  like  a  man  who 
never  was,  or  could  be,  still.  Georgina  did  not 
like  restless  people;  she  liked  people  to  be  quiet 
and  not  fidget.  Nevertheless  he  had  been  very 
kind — very  kind  indeed,  and  but  for  his  help  .  .  . 
Perhaps  he  was  an  oculist  .  .  .  possibly  well 


GERMANY  253 

known  .  .  .  there  were  celebrated  German  oculists 
.  .  .  people  went  all  the  way  to  Germany  to  con- 
sult them  ...  a  man  called  Pargonsticker  or 
something  of  the  kind.  It  might  be  quite  useful 
to  have  met  him  like  this,  supposing  anything  were 
to  go  wrong  with  her  or  Dome's  eyes. 

His  name,  however,  was  not  written  on  his  back, 
nor  on  his  face,  nor  on  his  short  black  beard.  She 
had  to  wait  till  she  went  upstairs  to  find  out  what 
it  was.  On  the  card  was  printed  "Herr  Dr. 
Eeisen,  Bahnstrasse,  Laubach." 

Was  Reisen  a  well-known  name?  Georgina  did 
not  know.  But  then  she  did  not  know  the  names 
of  any  German  doctors. 

CHAPTER  IV 

In  the  morning  Dorrie 's  headache  had  as  com- 
pletely vanished  as  had  on  the  previous  evening 
the  insect  from  Georgina 's  eye.  Georgina  told 
Dorrie  about  the  German  doctor,  and  Dorrie 
laughed. 

'  *  Oh,  Mummy,  how  funny  you  must  have  looked ! 
I  wish  I  had  been  there  to  see." 

It  did  not  fit  in  with  Mrs.  Bonham's  idea  of 
herself  to  think  that  she  might  have  looked  funny. 
Had  anyone  but  Dorrie  suggested  it,  she  would 
have  resented  the  suggestion,  but  she  rarely  re- 
sented anything  from  Dorrie.  Probably,  too,  the 
child  was  only  in  fun;  and  anyhow  if  she  had 
looked  funny,  there  was  nobody  but  Germans  to 
see  her. 


254  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

There  was  an  immense  deal  to  be  seen  in 
Dresden,  according  to  Baedeker  and  also  Murray, 
and  apart  from  the  guidance  of  Baedeker  and 
Murray  there  was,  as  Georgina  knew  for  herself, 
the  Madonna.  It  would  never  do,  having  been 
in  Dresden,  not  to  refer,  in  Stottleham,  to  the 
Dresden  Madonna.  The  Madonna  must  be  made 
sure  of  before  they  saw  anything  else.  They  set 
out  therefore,  soon  after  breakfast,  to  make  sure 
of  the  Madonna. 

Georgina  before  going  downstairs  put  one  of 
her  visiting  cards  in  her  handbag.  She  had  prac- 
tically promised  it  in  exchange  for  the  card  of 
Herr  Dr.  Eeisen.  But  she  did  not  see  the  doctor 
as  she  and  Dorrie  went  out,  nor  when  they  re- 
turned, nor  at  the  table  d'hote  in  the  evening. 
He  had,  indeed,  left  with  his  party,  by  an  early 
train  that  morning,  as  the  waiter,  on  enquiry,  in- 
formed her. 

It  was  perhaps  just  as  well,  Georgina  thought. 
He  might  have  expected  her  and  Dorrie  to  talk 
to  him  and  his  party  in  the  drawing-room  after 
dinner,  and  she  did  not  care  about  talking  to  people 
in  hotels.  You  never  knew — and  especially 
foreigners.  Moreover  these  particular  foreign- 
ers looked  dowdy- — the  women  at  any  rate.  The 
doctor  was  not  exactly  dowdy,  but — there  was  the 
table  napkin,  which  had  re-formed  itself  in  Geor- 
gina's  recollection.  He  had  been  very  kind,  and 
she  was  much  obliged  to  him,  but  it  was  just  as 
well. 

Georgina  and  Dorrie  stayed  a  week  in  Dresden, 


GERMANY  255 

and  saw  a  good  deal  besides  the  Madonna.  But 
Dorrie  begged  that  Mummy  would  not  make  her 
see  everything  in  the  guide-books.  ''Because  the 
pictures  get  so  jumbled,  and  there  are  such  lots 
that  are  the  same  people  over  and  over  again." 

Dorrie,  in  truth,  much  preferred  the  confec- 
tioners' shops  to  the  galleries.  She  rather  liked 
the  opera,  but  not  so  much  as  the  music  at  the 
cafes;  and  at  the  cafes  you  could  have  chocolate 
with  whipped  cream  while  the  music  was  going  on. 
If  only  Len  had  been  there  to  have  chocolate  too, 
and  some  of  the  delicious  cakes  that  were  served 
with  it!  She  wrote  him  enormously  long  letters 
and  told  him  everything  they  did,  but  the  galleries 
were  just  mentioned  in  a  sort  of  list,  while  the 
cafes  were  described  in  detail.  And  every  letter 
ended  up  with  a  reference  to  the  month  of  June. 
She  longed  for  March  to  be  over,  because  on  the 
very  first  day  of  April  she  would  be  able  to  talk, 
not  of  a  distant  June,  but  of  the  month  after  next. 
The  month  after  next  made  it  seem  very  near. 
"It"  was  the  meeting  with  Len. 


CHAPTER  V 

It  was  the  middle  of  March  when  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  and  Dorrie  arrived  at  the  Grafin's,  and  the 
castle,  Dorrie  wrote  to  Len,  was  lovely.  Geor- 
gina,  writing  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  called  it  superb. 
It  was  right  among  the  hills ;  the  hills  were  clothed 


256  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

in  forests,  and  some  of  the  forests  belonged  to  the 
Graf,  for  he  had  a  very  large  estate. 

"I  feel,"  Georgina  wrote  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  "as 
if  I  were  back  in  feudal  times.  It  is  such  a  lordly 
kind  of  life." 

Mrs.  Vearing  was  used,  at  the  Guild  Meetings, 
to  give  tidings  of  Mrs.  Bonham  and  report  as  to 
where  she  was  and  what  she  was  doing;  and  the 
news  spread  at  once  from  table  to  table  that  dear 
Mrs.  Bonham  was  leading  a  lordly  life.  It  was  re- 
ceived with  satisfaction;  the  lordliness  of  Mrs. 
Bonham  reflected  credit  upon  Stottleham.  And 
Miss  Truefitt  did  not  sniff.  All  the  sniff  had  been 
taken  out  of  her  by  Dorrie 's  engagement. 

The  lordliness  of  Mrs.  Bonham 's  life,  however, 
lay  chiefly  in  a  certain  etiquette  and  in  the  ideas 
of  Mrs.  Bonham ;  for  the  Graf  and  the  Grafin — and 
especially  the  Grafin — were  quite  simple  folk,  and 
so  were  their  children.  There  was  Otto,  who  was 
twenty-one,  and  Emilie,  who  was  nineteen,  and 
Alma,  who  was  seventeen.  Otto  was  fair  and  so 
was  Alma,  and  Emilie  was  dark ;  and  all  three  im- 
mensely admired  Dorrie,  especially  Otto.  He  was 
of  course  a  count  like  his  father,  and  Emilie  and 
Alma  were  countesses;  and  this  was  one  of  the 
things  that  Georgina  thought  lordly. 

Dorrie,  being  eighteen,  was  midway  in  age 
between  Emilie  and  Alma,  and  both  confided  in 
her.  Emilie  had  a  romantic  attachment,  and 
Dorrie  was  moved  to  tears  by  the  hopelessness  and 
the  pathos  of  Emilie 's  fate.  Der  Adolf  was  evi- 
dently one  of  the  noblest  and  most  charming  of 


GERMANY  257 

men,  and  it  was  heart-breaking  to  think  that  pov- 
erty and  an  inferior  position  forbade  his  union 
with  Emilie. 

Alma  had  no  romantic  attachment,  but  she  hoped 
to  have  one:  as  yet  she  had  come  across  no  man 
sufficiently  romantic  to  be  attached  to.  Otto  had 
had  two,  and  had  now,  since  Dome's  arrival, 
formed  a  third.  He,  also,  wished  to  confide  in 
her,  but  Dorrie  had  no  pity  for  Otto.  When  Otto 
fixed  his  blue  eyes  on  her  and  sighed,  Dorrie  only 
laughed;  "because,"  as  she  told  Georgina,  "he 
isn't  really  miserable  a  bit,  and  he  only  pretends 
to  himself  he's  in  love  with  me.  The  way  he 
looks — it's  quite,  quite  different  from  Len.  I 
wonder  if  Daddy  used  to  look  at  you,  Mummy, 
the  way  Len  looks  at  me." 

"I  daresay,"  said  Georgina.  She  did  not  in 
fact  remember  how  Theodore  had  looked  at  her 
before  they  were  married.  She  remembered 
Kayke's  way  of  looking  at  her  during  the  time 
he  had  sat  on  the  fence  that  divided  him  from 
matrimony  far  better  than  any  gaze  or  glance  of 
Theodore's.  But  she  could  not,  of  course,  reveal 
the  romance  which  her  prudence  had  stultified  to 
Dorrie. 

She  missed  Eayke,  during  this  time  abroad, 
more  than  anybody.  Mrs.  Vearing — yes,  she 
missed  Mrs.  Vearing,  but  nothing  like  so  much 
as  she  missed  Rayke.  Alicia  was  a  sort  of  satel- 
lite, whereas  Rayke,  with  his  wisdom  and  sym- 
pathy, was  a  sort  of  sun ;  and  while  she  missed  the 
circling  of  the  satellite,  she  missed  still  more  the 


258  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

illumination  of  the  sun.  He  wrote  her  nice  letters 
and  she  wrote  equally  nice  letters  to  him ;  but  she 
missed  the  constant  consultation  and  the  asking 
and  giving  of  advice.  Advice  by  post  was  not  the 
same  thing;  it  took  so  long  in  coming  and  she 
could  not  explain  the  little  ins  and  outs  of  diffi- 
culties in  a  letter.  Rayke  had  always  understood 
so  much  that  she  left  unsaid,  but  if  she  left  things 
unsaid  in  writing,  he  did  not  understand  at  all. 
It  would  be  very  nice,  she  thought,  to  be  back  at 
the  Beeches  with  Eayke  coming  to  tea. 


CHAPTER  VI 

In  the  meantime  G-eorgina  made  the  most  of 
the  castle,  with  its  counts  and  countesses  and  its 
lordly  life;  and  Dorrie,  striking  off  daily  in  her 
almanac  one  of  the  days  that  still  divided  her 
from  Len,  made  the  most  of  it  too.  And  Dome's 
most  was  a  good  deal,  because  she  was  young 
and  well  and  eager  of  enjoyment,  and  was  amused 
by  all  the  sights  and  ways  that  were  different  from 
what  she  had  known  in  England. 

There  were  continual  expeditions  to  points  of 
interest  or  beauty,  and  at  every  point  there  was 
a  restaurant  where  they  had  coffee  or  beer  or  milk 
and  always  cakes.  Georgina  had  a  distinct  liking 
for  German  beer,  but  Dorrie  made  faces  when- 
ever she  tasted  it,  and  Otto  made  her  very  angry, 
or  as  nearly  very  angry  as  she  could  be  made, 
by  saying  that  her  dislike  was  affectation.  Then, 


GERMANY  259 

when  he  had  made  her  angry,  he  begged  her  to 
forgive  him  and  said  if  she  would  only  be  kind 
to  him  he  would  never  tease  her  again. 

There  were  always  Jews  wherever  they  went, 
and  the  Graf  and  the  Grafins  disliked  the  Jews  as 
much  as  Dorrie  disliked  the  beer.  And  sometimes 
there  were  Polish  Jews  who  wore  long  gaberdines 
and  earlocks,  and  amazed  and  amused  Dorrie  by 
their  appearance,  and  who  seemed  to  be  held  in 
as  much  contempt  by  the  German  Jews  as  were 
the  German  Jews  by  the  .Germans  who  were  not 
Jews. 

Georgina  and  Dorrie  both  wrote  accounts  of  the 
expeditions.  Georgina 's  accounts  were  circulated 
throughout  Stottleham  and  interested  the  people 
in  all  the  different  sets;  but  Dorrie 's  accounts 
got  no  further  than  Len,  and  indeed  in  Dome's 
accounts  there  was  very  little  of  general  interest. 

It  was  lovely  spring  weather,  and  they  all  en- 
joyed the  expeditions.  The  Graf  and  the  Grafins 
said  it  was  so  delightful  to  show  their  dear  English 
friends  the  beauties  and  customs  of  the  Father- 
land ;  and  Georgina  said  it  was  so  interesting  and 
instructive,  and  Dorrie  said  it  was  so  funny,  to  see 
how  things  were  done  in  Germany.  There  were 
only  two  expeditions  which  were  not  completely 
successful.  The  first  was  spoiled  by  Georgina 
having  a  headache,  which  became  a  very  bad  head- 
ache before  they  got  back  to  the  castle;  and  the 
other  expedition  was  the  one  during  which  Dorrie 
had  her  accident.  But  this  one  was  not  very  much 
spoiled,  not  nearly  so  much  as  was  the  expedition 


260  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

of  Georgina's  headache,  since  Dome's  accident, 
as  Dorrie  said,  was  such  a  tiny  one. 

She  slipped  on  a  path  slippery  with  pine-needles 
and  fell,  and  at  the  spot  where  she  fell  there  was 
the  remains  of  a  broken  bottle,  cast  away  by  a 
last  year's  picnicker  (the  Grafs  and  the  Grafins 
said  of  course  he  was  a  Jew)  and  partially  em- 
bedded in  the  soil.  It  was  sharp  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  cut  through  the  side  of  Dorrie 's 
shoe  and  graze  her  foot.  It  was  not  much  more 
than  a  graze,  but  it  bled  a  little ;  and  Emilie,  who 
could  not  stand  the  sight  of  blood,  almost  fainted, 
and  Otto  thundered  against  the  rascally  Jew  whose 
fault  it  was,  and  the  Grafin  proposed  all  sorts 
of  remedies,  and  Georgina,  who  always  carried 
two  handkerchiefs,  produced  a  clean  one  to  bind 
up  the  wound,  and  everybody  talked  at  once. 

The  only  one  who  did  not  talk  was  Dorrie. 
Dorrie  only  laughed,  and  when  they  allowed  her 
to  answer  some  of  the  questions  they  volleyed 
forth,  she  said  it  did  not  hurt  at  all  or  hardly  at 
all,  and  she  did  not  feel  a  bit  sick  or  shaken,  thank 
you,  nor  at  all  frightened,  and  that  it  was  ever  so 
much  better  than  if  she  had  sprained  her  ankle. 

1  'The  villain!"  said  Otto.  "To  break  a  bottle 
and  throw  it  where  a  lady  might  fall." 

"I  hope,"  said  Dorrie,  "that  he  had  drunk  the 
beer,  poor  fellow,  before  he  broke  the  bottle." 

Whereupon  the  papa  Graf  said  that  she  had  a 
noble  character. 

Otto  wanted  to  carry  her,  but  Dorrie  resolutely 
refused  to  be  carried.  If  it  had  been  Len  . 


GERMANY  261 

But  it  was  not  Len,  and  she  did  not  say  to  Otto 
what  might  have  happened  if  he  had  been  Len. 
She  took  Georgina's  arm  as  far  as  the  carriage, 
but  she  hardly  limped  at  all,  and  by  the  time  they 
got  back  to  the  castle  the  wound  had  stopped  bleed- 
ing altogether. 

By  that  time,  too,  everybody's  excitement  had 
subsided,  and  it  seemed  to  them  all  somewhat 
absurd  that  Augustine  should  a  little  lose  her  head 
when  she  heard  that  Mees  had  had  an  accident. 

' 'And  I  said  only  a  slight  accident,"  Georgina 
explained. 

"But  Augustine's  always  losing  her  head, 
Mummy,"  said  Dorrie,  "so  it's  only  likely  she 
would  when  everybody  else  did." 

"I  didn't  lose  my  head." 

"You  never  do,  do  you,  Mummy!  But  all  the 
rest  did.  That 's  what  made  me  laugh.  Especially 
Otto." 

"Poor  Otto,  I  fear,  has  lost  his  heart." 

*  *  Oh  no,  he  <hasn  't.  It 's  only  because  he  thinks 
he  ought  to.  He  likes  me,  of  course,  but  it's  be- 
cause I'm  pretty." 

"But,  darling" — Georgina  was  a  little  shocked 
— ' '  do  you  think  you  're  pretty  ?  People  don 't  gen- 
erally ..." 

"I  must  be,"  interrupted  Dorrie,  "because  Len 
says  so." 

"Really,  Dorrie " 

"And  I  think  so  too,  rather,  of  my  own  accord. 
I  can't  help  it,  Mummy,  especially  in  some  of  my 
hats." 


262  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"When  I  was  a  girl,"  said  Georgina,  "I  never 
heard  girls  talk  as  you  talk." 

"Didn't  you?  I  wonder,  when  7  have  a 
daughter " 

"Really,  Dome,  it's  hardly.  ...  To  talk  of 
having  children  before  ..." 

"But  of  course  I  shall  have  children.  You  had 
a  daughter,  Mummy,  so  why  shouldn't  I?" 


CHAPTER  VII 

Augustine  had  been  getting  on  quite  satisfac- 
torily in  regard  to  German ;  it  seemed  to  Georgina 
that  she  had  managed  everything  very  well  during 
the  travelling.  She  had  accomplished  the  ticket- 
taking  without  a  hitch,  and  appeared  to  have  no 
difficulties  at  the  hotels.  Georgina  did  not  realize 
that  at  every  hotel  most  of  the  servants  spoke 
French  as  well  as  English,  and  she  was  reassured 
as  to  Augustine's  command  of  the  German  tongue. 
Moreover,  Augustine  had  improved  very  much  in 
her  English,  so  that  there  was  now  no  difficulty 
in  communicating  with  her,  and  being  satisfied  in 
respect  of  her  English,  Mrs.  Bonham  was  disposed 
to  be  satisfied  also  in  respect  of  her  German. 
Augustine  herself  was  quite  satisfied  too. 

Augustine  thoroughly  enjoyed  herself  at  the 
castle;  it  was  the  kind  of  life,  she  told  Dorrie, 
that  she  did  enjoy;  and  she  became  as  nearly  de- 
pressed as  it  seemed  possible  for  her  to  be,  when 
the  time  drew  near  for  leaving  it. 


GERMANY  263 

It  seemed  extraordinary  to  Dome  that  Augus- 
tine should  be  depressed.  Of  course  in  a  way  it 
was  all  right.  Dorrie  too — in  a  way — was  sorry 
to  go ;  sorry  to  leave  the  kind  Graf  and  Grafin  and 
Emilie  and  Alma  and  Otto — even  Otto.  But  when 
they  left  the  castle  their  faces  would  be  set  towards 
England,  west  instead  of  east,  and  surely  to  go 
back  to  England  .  .  .  Only  of  course,  Dorrie  re- 
minded herself,  everybody  could  not  be  engaged 
to  Len.  Augustine  certainly  could  not.  The 
thought  amused  her  and  made  it  more  difficult  than 
ever  to  look  as  sorrowful  as  she  felt  she  ought 
to  look  in  response  to  the  melancholy  aspect  of 
Emilie,  Alma  and  Otto. 

The  only  thing  that  was  rather  tiresome  was 
that  the  little  wound  on  her  foot  had  not  prop- 
erly healed.  The  Graf  thought  some  dirt  must 
have  got  into  it;  the  Grafin  thought  it  was  the 
dye  from  the  stocking;  Georgina  did  not  know 
what  to  think ;  and  as  for  Dorrie,  all  she  thought 
about  it  was  that  it  was  annoying  because  people 
made  such  a  fuss. 

' 'I  think,"  said  the  Grafin  to  Georgina,  "that 
you  should  let  a  doctor  see  the  foot  as  soon  as 
you  get  to  a  town." 

"I  will,"  said  Georgina,  "most  certainly. 
Laubach  is  our  first  stopping-place,  and  ..." 

Suddenly  she  remembered  Dresden  and  the  fly 
in  her  eye  and  the  doctor  who  had  been  so  kind. 
She  had  not  thought  either  of  the  fly  or  the  doctor 
since  she  had  been  at  the  castle.  And  now  she 
could  not  remember  his  name,  but  she  thought — 


264  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

she  was  almost  sure — that  Laubach  was  the  name 
of  the  place  on  the  card  he  had  given  her. 

The  next  time  she  went  upstairs  she  looked  for 
the  card  and  found  it  and  brought  it  downstairs 
to  show  the  Grafin. 

"The  Herr  Professor  Eeisen  was  it  who  came 
to  your  assistance?"  exclaimed  the  Grafin.  "I 
know  the  name  very  well,  and  indeed  I  know — a 
little — the  man.  There  has  been  talk  about  him" 
— the  Grafin  shrugged  her  shoulders — "but  he  is 
so  celebrated  that  one  has  to  forget  it.  Every- 
where in  Europe — I  daresay  you  have  heard  of 
him,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bonham,  as  a  professor,  a  sci- 
entist ..." 

"I  may  have  heard  the  name,"  said  Georgina, 
but  she  felt  quite  sure  she  never  had.  She  added : 
"My  friend,  Dr.  Eayke,  I  daresay  would  know 
him." 

"Without  doubt.  And  you  could  not  consult  a 
better  man.  He  is  a  skin  specialist " 

"But  this  wound  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
skin,"  said  Georgina  quickly.  Dorrie's  skin  was 
perfect,  she  said  to  herself. 

"No,  of  course  not."  The  Grafin  hastened  to 
remove  the  imputation  she  appeared  to  have  cast 
on  Dorrie's  skin.  "Oh  no.  Your  Dorrie  has  such 
a  beautiful  complexion.  Still,  he  is  clever — so 
clever  in  every  way.  I  will  write  you  a  little  letter 
of  introduction." 

"It's  most  kind,  but  I  need  not  trouble  you.  I 
have  my  introduction."  And  Georgina  pointed 
to  the  card.  "I  am  sure  he  will  remember  me." 


GERMANY  265 

Dear  Mrs.  Bonham  was  not  used  to  being  for- 
gotten. 

The  Grafin  agreed;  the  card  was  quite  enough. 
Still,  she  had  to  write  to  the  Professor  in  any 
case,  about  a  poor  girl  in  whom  she  was  interested 
and  whom  she  wanted  him  to  treat  in  his  clinic :  she 
would  mention  Mrs.  Bonham  and  her  daughter  at 
the  same  time.  It  could  do  no  harm,  said  the 
Grafin. 

The  Grafin  having  agreed  with  Georgina,  Geor- 
gina  now  agreed  with  the  Grafin.  The  card,  to  be 
sure,  was  an  introduction,  a  fully  sufficient  intro- 
duction, connected  as  it  was  with  the  incident  of 
the  fly;  but  it  could  do  no  harm  to  be  known  as  a 
friend  of  the  Grafin 's;  on  the  contrary  a  friend 
of  the  Grafin 's  would  certainly  be  received  with  a 
greater  enthusiasm  and  deference  than  an  hotel 
acquaintance  from  whose  eye  the  professor  had 
removed  an  insect.  Georgina  therefore  agreed  to 
the  Grafin 's  proposal,  and  graced  her  thanks  with 
a  measure  of  effusiveness. 

Dorrie,  who  usually  objected  to  seeing  doctors, 
said  she  would  go  and  see  any  doctor  Mummy 
liked,  if  it  would  make  people  stop  worrying  about 
her  foot.  And  the  doctor  who  had  been  so  kind 
to  Mummy  would  be  much  the  nicest  doctor  to 
see. 


266       THE  THUNDERBOLT 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Georgina  and  Dorrie,  when  they  got  to  Laubach, 
thought  it  very  dull.  The  Grafin  had  recom- 
mended an  hotel  in  a  quiet  part  of  the  town,  in 
the  Catholic  quarter,  for  the  Jewish  quarter,  she 
said,  was  reeking  with  Jews ;  moreover  it  was  very 
noisy,  not  only  because  there  were  a  great  many 
Jews,  but  because  there  were  also  a  great  many 
cobblestones.  The  cobblestones  seemed  to  be 
everywhere,  but  very  few  vehicles  passed  over 
them  in  the  street  where  was  the  hotel  recom- 
mended by  the  Grafin,  and  it  was  very  quiet,  and 
quite  Jewless  and — so  Georgina  and  Dorrie 
thought — quite  uninteresting.  Augustine  thought 
so  too. 

Dorrie  and  Augustine  went  out  after  they  had 
all  had  some  tea  and  some  little  rolls  shaped  like 
buns,  to  see  if  they  could  find  shops  and  res- 
taurants with  bands.  Georgina  was  tired  and 
preferred  to  lie  down  in  her  bedroom ;  besides,  she 
owed  letters  to  both  Mrs.  Vearing  and  Dr.  Rayke 
and  wanted  to  clear  off  her  debt. 

"I  wish,  Mummy,"  said  Dorrie  when  she  came 
back,  "that  we  had  gone  to  an  hotel  amongst  the 
nice  horrid  Jews." 

"I  don't  know  why  you  call  them  nice,  darling. 
After  all  we  heard  at  the  castle.  .  .  .  Besides, 
they  can't  be  nice  if  they  are  horrid." 

"I  suppose  they're  horrid,  because  the  Grafin 
and  all  said  they  were.  But  I  think  they're  rather 


GERMANY  267 

nice, — more  amusing  than  other  Germans,  and 
very  kind  if  you  ask  the  way." 

' '  Did  you  ask  the  way  f  Where  to  ?  Where  did 
you  go  to?" 

"We  asked  the  way  to  the  hotel,  because — it 
was  such  fun,  Mummy — we  lost  ourselves.  We 
went  ever  so  far  away — well,  not  ever  so  far,  but 
pretty  far,  and  we  got  right  amongst  the  Jews  and 
the  shops  and  the  bustle — much  more  amusing 
than  it  is  round  about  here.  And  of  course  we 
thought  we  knew  the  way  back,  and  then  we 
didn't." 

"You  should  have  looked  at  the  map.  I  don't 
know  whether  there 's  any  sort  of  map  of  Laubach 
in  Baedeker,  but  I  am  sure  I  saw  maps  and  local 
guidebooks  for  sale  in  the  bureau." 

"We  did  buy  a  guide-book  and  there  was  a  map 
in  it,  but  you  can't  study  a  map  when  you're 
walking  along,  can  you,  Mummy?" 

"I  should  have  studied  it  before  I  started,"  said 
Georgina.  She  rather  prided  herself  on  finding 
her  way  about.  She  had  found  it  with  almost  no 
difficulty  at  all  to  the  Dresden  Madonna. 

"I  suppose  we  ought  to  have,  but  we  were  so 
anxious  to  start.  But  Augustine  says  she  is  going 
to  study  it  this  evening.  We  kept  saying  'Bitte, 
Schwarzerhof '  all  the  way  along,  and  the  Jews— 
for  they  all  seemed  Jews — were  very  kind,  and 
one  sort  of  passed  us  on  to  another." 

"I  hope  you  didn't  make  your  foot  worse, 
wandering  about  like  that." 

"It  didn't  hurt  hardly  at  all,  only  because  the 


268  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

stocking  nibs  it.  It's  ever  so  much  better.  I 
don't  see  why  I  really  should  go  and  see  the  doctor 
at  all." 

"It  will  be  better  to  see  him,  darling,  because 
it  might  get  worse  later  on  at  some  place  where 
we  don't  know  any  doctor.  And  besides,  you 
know,  the  Countess  has  written  to  him  and  he 
will  be  expecting  you." 

"I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  mind.  One  foot  can't 
make  any  difference  to  him. ' ' 

"Perhaps  not;  but  the  Countess  might  mind 
after  taking  the  trouble  to  write.  And  besides, 
it's  safer.  I  should  feel  more  comfortable. 
We'll  go  in  the  morning;  and  if  he  says  it's  all 
right,  we  might — well,  we  might  move  on  the  next 
day." 

"Or  even  to-morrow  afternoon,"  Dorrie  sug- 
gested. 

Georgina  reflected.  There  was  the  packing  and 
.  .  .  but  Augustine  ...  it  would  not  take  long. 
And  Laubach  was  dreadfully  dull. 

"Or  even  to-morrow  afternoon,"  she  agreed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

But  to-morrow  morning  and  to-morrow  after- 
noon Georgina  was  in  bed  with  a  headache.  She 
said  it  was  a  nervous  headache,  but  Dorrie  and 
Augustine  thought  it  was  bilious,  though  Dorrie 
did  not  say  so  to  Augustine,  nor  did  Augustine 
say  so  to  Dorrie.  Dorrie  did  not  think  that  the 
German  beer  had  agreed  with  Mummy,  for 


GERMANY  269 

Mummy  had  headaches  much  oftener  in  Germany 
than  she  had  in  England  or  even  in  France:  but 
Georgina  would  not  admit  beer  as  a  factor  any 
more  than  she  would  admit  bile.  The  idea  of  Mrs. 
Bonham  of  the  Beeches  being  upset  by  beer !  Her 
headaches  were  due  to  over-fatigue,  and  though 
she  felt  far  too  wretched  to  argue  the  point,  or 
any  point,  on  that  Tuesday  morning,  she  most  cer- 
tainly would  have  argued  it  with  marked  dis- 
pleasure when  she  got  better.  And  Dorrie,  know- 
ing this,  left  the  point  unraised. 

The  tiresome  thing  was  that  Georgina  could  not 
take  Dorrie  to  the  doctor,  and  they  would  have  to 
wait  at  least  an  extra  day,  and  perhaps  two,  in 
the  depressing  superior  quarter  of  Laubach. 
Dorrie  said  she  felt  sure  Mummy  would  be  ever 
so  much  better  when  she  had  left  Laubach :  it  was 
enough  to  give  anybody  a  headache  to  be  in  Lau- 
bach. If  Mummy  wasn't  better  by  the  after- 
noon, she  would  go  to  the  doctor's  with  Augustine, 
if  she  had  to  go.  Augustine  had  been  studying 
the  map,  and  knew  exactly  where  the  Bahnstrasse 
was  and  how  to  get  there,  and  if  Mummy  could  be 
left  .  .  . 

Mummy  felt  that  to  be  left  would  be  bliss  com- 
pared with  being  argued  with  or  persuaded  or 
entreated  or  indeed  talked  to  at  all.  If  Dorrie 
wanted  to  go  with  Augustine,  let  her  go.  She  had 
meant  and  wanted  to  take  her  herself,  but  if  Dorrie 
persisted  .  .  .  argument  with  her  head  in  its 
present  condition  was  impossible.  .  .  . 

"Do  as  you  like,"  said  Georgina. 


270  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

So  when  the  afternoon  came,  and  poor  Mummy 
could  not  look  at  food,  Dorrie  put  eau-de-Cologne 
on  the  little  table  by  her  bed  and  kissed  her  and 
drew  the  curtains  and  tiptoed  out  of  the  room. 
She  herself  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  have  more 
than  the  slightest  of  headaches,  but  she  was  dread- 
fully sorry  for  Mummy,  and  she  summoned  the 
chambermaid  and  told  her  all  that  she  was  to  do 
and  all  that  she  was  not  to  do,  and  then  she  sum- 
moned Augustine. 

It  was  a  horrid  afternoon,  Dorrie  wrote  to  Len, 
which  was  rather  a  good  thing  in  a  way,  because 
in  horrid  weather,  when  you  couldn  't  see  anything 
else,  you  might  as  well  see  a  doctor. 

As  it  happened,  they  saw  a  great  deal  besides 
the  doctor,  a  great  deal  which  they  had  not  in- 
tended to  see.  Dorrie  called  it  her  mistakes  and 
accidents  day,  because  it  was  full  of  both.  In  the 
first  place,  when,  not  far  from  the  hotel,  they  came 
to  a  church,  Dorrie  insisted  upon  going  in,  be- 
cause, as  she  said,  she  liked  to  smell  the  incense 
and  she  wanted  to  see  the  dear  little  acolytes. 
There  was  no  service  going  on,  and  there  were 
no  acolytes,  and  she  soon  had  enough  of  the  in- 
cense. That  could  not  be  called  either  a  mistake 
or  an  accident,  but  later  on,  when  Augustine  lost 
her  way,  she  declared  that  she  had  been  put  out 
of  her  bearings  by  going  into  the  church. 

" Ridiculous,  wasn't  it?"  said  Dorrie  in  a  letter 
to  Len.  ' '  But  Augustine  is  no  good  with  a  map. ' ' 

"Then,"  the  letter  went  on,  "we  got  down  into 
the  Jewish  quarter  again  where  we  had  been  the 


GERMANY  271 

day  before,  and  into  a  wide  street  full  of  bustle 
and  Jews,  and  Augustine  kept  asking  the  way, 
and  people  kept  telling  her,  and  she  kept  on  losing 
it  again,  and  then  it  began  to  rain.  I  had  an  um- 
brella, but  Augustine  hadn't,  and  I  held  mine  over 
us  both  and  we  both  got  wet.  Two  people  always 
do  if  there's  only  one  umbrella,  don't  you  think 
so?  It  would  really  have  been  much  better  if 
one  of  us  had  kept  dry,  but  that  would  have  had 
to  be  me,  and  I  felt  so  sorry  for  Augustine,  be- 
cause her  front  hair  came  out  of  curl  and  she 
looked  so  funny  and  flurried,  and  I  don't  think 
she  knows  German  as  well  as  she  thinks  she  does. 
Then  the  streets  got  very  muddy  and  wet,  and  you 
know  how  horrid  it  is  when  your  skirt  gets  muddy 
and  flops  against  your  ankles — oh  no,  of  course 
you  don't.  How  funny  you  would  look  in  a  skirt, 
Len  darling!  Well,  mine  got  wet,  and  so  did 
Augustine's,  and  then  when  we  were  crossing  the 
road  we  nearly  got  run  over,  and  Augustine 
screamed,  and  I  gave  a  jump,  and  I  jumped  into 
a  puddle.  We  were  both  splashed,  and  my  hat 
fell  off,  and  oh  the  poor  feather!  I  said  then  I 
thought  we  had  better  go  home — to  the  hotel,  I 
mean,  but  Augustine  thought  that  Madame,  as  she 
calls  Mummy,  would  be  angry  if  I  hadn't  been  to 
the  doctor's,  and  of  course  I  didn't  want  Augus- 
tine to  get  into  a  row. 

"Well,  we  did  get  there  at  last,  because  we  took 
a  cab,  and  Augustine  was  rather  cross  because 
I  laughed  at  her  in  the  cab.  But  how  could  I  help 
it?  for  generally  she  looks  quite  smart,  and  she 


272  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

looked  so  draggled  and  funny.  What  /  must  have 
looked  like,  I  can 't  imagine.  I  am  sure  you  would 
have  cut  me  dead  (but  I  don't  really  think  you 
would).  But  I  was  afraid  the  doctor  would  be 
horrified.  Only  he  wasn't  in  when  we  got  to  his 
house  in  the  cab,  and  they  sent  us  to  his  clinic,  and 
he  wasn't  there  either,  only  a  sort  of  assistant  or 
something.  But  Augustine  explained  and  said 
about  the  Grafin  writing,  and  he  said  it  was  all 
right.  Only  what  I  did  hate,  though  it  does  not 
matter  now,  as  it 's  all  over,  but  I  did  hate  .  .  . 

' '  Augustine 's  come  in  and  the  bus  is  waiting  to 
go  to  the  station  and  I  can't — till  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  X 

What  Dorrie  hated,  and  what  Georgina  hated, 
and  what  the  Herr  Professor  hated  too  when  he 
realized  what  had  happened,  was  that  Dorrie,  in- 
stead of  having  a  consultation  with  the  doctor  at 
the  doctor's  house,  had  been  received  into  his 
clinic. 

The  doctor  did  not  realize  the  mistake  that  had 
been  made  till  the  following  afternoon.  Nor  did 
Mrs.  Bonham. 

Georgina,  in  the  dozing  discomfort  which  suc- 
ceeded the  more  acute  stage  of  her  suffering,  did 
not  discover  Dorrie 's  absence  till  Dorrie 's  bedtime. 
Then  her  alarm — for  surely  there  must  be  some- 
thing very  much  wrong  with  the  foot — was  only 
equalled  by  her  anger.  The  anger  was  directed 


GERMANY  273 

against  Augustine  because  there  was,  at  the  mo- 
ment, nobody  else  against  whom  to  direct  it.  Au- 
gustine must  have  been  stupid ;  it  must  have  been 
Augustine's  fault.  Augustine  was  dispatched  at 
once  to  bring  back  Dorrie  or  at  least  news  of  her. 

Augustine  brought  back  neither. 

" Everything  was  shut,"  she  announced  with 
tears  of  terror;  for  Augustine,  always  in  awe  of 
Madame,  was  now  overwhelmed  by  Madame 's  dis- 
pleasure. 

The  next  morning  Augustine  was  dispatched 
anew,  after  Georgina  had  got  up,  dressed,  and  then 
been  obliged  to  lie  down  on  the  sofa;  and  again 
Augustine  returned  without  Dorrie  and  without 
news  that  could  be  called  news. 

"It  was  all  r-right.  Mees  was  to  stay.  They 
said  it  was  all  r-right. ' ' 

The  roll  of  Augustine's  r's,  the  inability  of  Au- 
gustine to  explain  why  it  was  all  right,  got  on 
Georgina 's  nerves.  It  was  impossible  to  do  any- 
thing with  a  creature  so  incapable. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  shaken  and  still  a  little 
sick,  but  stimulated  by  alarm  and  upheld  by  annoy- 
ance, Mrs.  Bonham  went  in  a  cab  to  the  flat  in 
which  resided  Herr  Reisen. 

The  doctor  remembered  her  at  once.  Of  course. 
Mrs.  Bonham  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  he 
would.  And  he  was  very  kind  and  very  polite; 
but  it  was  obvious  that  he  had  not  an  idea  why  she 
had  come. 

Perceiving  that  he  did  not  understand  the  object 
of  her  visit,  Mrs.  Bonham  stared  at  him. 


274  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"You  don't  know !" 

'  *  I  await  you  shall  tell  me. " 

Georgina  told  him. 

As  she  told  him,  the  Professor  got  up  from  his 
chair  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  as  he  had 
done  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  hotel  at  Dresden. 
And  then,  as  Mrs.  Bonham  realized  that  Dorrie 
was  not  in  Herr  Beisen's  flat,  Herr  Reisen  realized 
that  it  was  Miss  Bonham  who  had  been  received 
the  morning  before  into  his  clinic. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  in  all  her  life,  had  never  been  so 
angry  or  so  agitated  as  when  she  realized  where 
Dorrie  was.  A  common  clinic  .  .  .  with  common 
people.  That  it  was  the  Professor's  own  clinic 
gave  it,  in  that  moment,  no  touch  of  redemption. 
No  matter  whether  well-to-do  patients  were  re- 
ceived in  it  or  no ;  it  was  for  all  sorts  of  people- 
people  who  .  .  .  low-class  people  like  the  Coun- 
tess's protegee  .  .  .  the  wretched,  confusing,  mis- 
chief-making protegee. 

In  that  hour  Georgina  almost  hated  the  Count- 
ess. It  was  all  her  fault  with  her  idiotic  officious 
letter.  If  she  had  only  left  Georgina  to  manage 
her  own  business !  Her  daughter,  Mrs.  Bonham 's 
daughter,  treated  like  .  .  .  Through  Georgina 's 
indignation  ran  a  resolve :  it  must  never  be  known 
in  Stottleham.  Not  even  to  Alicia  Vearing,  not 
even  to  Rayke,  would  she  disclose  it — at  any  rate 
not  in  writing.  Perhaps  later  on — much  later — 
when  it  was  all  long  past  and  over,  at  tea  some  day. 
.  .  .  And  Dorrie — it  must  be  represented  to  Dorrie 
that  .  .  .  Dorrie  was  so  apt  to  treat  things  as 


GERMANY  275 

jokes  and  be  amused  when She  might  even  be 

amused  at  this. 

The  only  comfort  was  that  the  Professor  was 
fully  as  much  upset  as  was  Mrs.  Bonham ;  or  even 
more  upset.  As  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  his  being  upset. 
The  disaster,  the  terrible  disaster — thus  he  charac- 
terized it — of  Dorrie  having  been  mistaken  for  the 
Countess's  ignoble  protegee  caused  him  to  break 
from  his  careful  English  into  words  which,  incom- 
prehensible to  Georgina,  sounded  to  her  like  a 
concentrated  essence  of  blasphemy. 

She  disapproved  of  swearing  and  even  of  strong 
language ;  but  the  occasion  justified  unusual  vehe- 
mence :  she  could  not  but  be  gratified  by  the  Pro- 
fessor's  guttural  distress  and  was  even  a  little 
soothed  by  it.  He  saw  the  enormity  then  of  what 
had  occurred.  That  was  something. 

It  was  also  something  that  Dorrie 's  detention 
was  not  due  to  the  state  of  her  foot,  that  there  was 
nothing  terribly  the  matter,  or  indeed  much  the 
matter  at  all,  with  her  foot.  Not  that  Georgina 
had  thought  there  was ;  nevertheless  it  was  satis- 
factory to  have  the  Professor's  emphatic  assur- 
ance. 

"The  foot,"  said  Dr.  Reisen,  "is  nothing.  It 
will  in  a  couple  of  days  be  healed:  almost  it  is 
healed  now.  The  foot  is  nothing.  It  is  the  con- 
fusion, the  mistake,  the  ...  If  but  even  only  this 
morning  I  had  known  ...  if  but  since  two,  three 
hours  .  .  .  No,  no,  not  the  foot  it  is.  ...  The 
foot  is  nothing." 


276  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Yet,  having  stated  that  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  Dorrie's  foot,  Herr  Eeisen  had  what 
Georgina  called  the  impertinence  to  suggest  that 
Miss  Bonham  should  remain  a  week  or  two  in 
Laubach  in  order  to  undergo  treatment. 

11  Treatment !"  said  Mrs.  Bonham.  "And, 
pray,  what  for  ? "  If  there  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  Miss  Bonham 's  foot,  she  asked  the  Professor, 
why  should  Miss  Bonham  have  treatment  ? 

The  Professor,  answering,  was  not  very  coher- 
ent. 

"The  general  health  of  the  young  lady  is — is 
...  To  counteract — prevent  .  .  .  there  is  a  tend- 
ence  ..." 

"I  know  of  no  tendency  in  my  daughter's 
health,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham,  getting  up,  "which  re- 
quires treatment  at  Laubach.  There  are  no  tend- 
encies in  the  health  of  my  family  which  require 
counteraction  or  treatment  at  all.  Miss  Bonham 's 
family  on  both  sides  is  perfectly  sound,  and  her 
general  health  is  excellent.  We  leave  Laubach," 
said  Mrs.  Bonham,  looking  at  Herr  Eeisen  as  she 
looked  at  members  of  the  second  set  in  Stottleham 
when  they  claimed  acquaintance  with  her  outside 
second-set  precincts,  "to-morrow  morning." 

She  bowed  and  Herr  Reisen  bowed.  After  the 
bow  he  opened  his  mouth,  but,  looking  at  Mrs. 
Bonham 's  face,  he  did  not  speak :  instead  of  speak- 
ing he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


GERMANY  277 

CHAPTER  XI 

But  for  Dorrie,  Georgina  would  have  dismissed 
Augustine  on  the  spot.  For  it  was  even  more 
Augustine's  fault  than  the  Countess's.  Had  it 
not  been  for  Augustine's  stupidity,  the  Countess 
might  have  committed  no  fault  at  all.  It  was  Au- 
gustine who  had  muddled  everything,  with  her 
lack  of  sense  and  of  German.  Georgina  had  lost 
all  faith  in  Augustine's  German.  She  was  sure, 
she  said  to  Dorrie — and  also  to  Augustine — that  it 
was  even  worse  than  her  English  had  been  when 
she  first  became  maid  to  Georgina. 

And  Augustine,  when  she  was  not  calling  upon 
her  God,  accepted  all  Madame 's  reproaches  in 
tears  and  speechlessness.  For  there  was  nothing 
to  be  said.  What  could  she  say!  Muddle?  con- 
fusion? Who  save  herself  could  know  how  con- 
fused and  muddled  she  had  been?  And  as  for  her 
German — who  better  than  Augustine  could  know 
how  bad  it  was?  At  the  hotels  her  German  had 
seemed  to  her  very  good,  but  at  the  hotels  every- 
body— everybody  that  mattered — spoke  French. 
But  at  the  clinic !  If  only  at  the  clinic  there  had 
been  somebody  intelligent  enough  to  speak 
French!  Augustine  felt  that  in  being  confronted 
at  the  clinic  with  a  person  who  spoke  no  French, 
who  did  not  understand  her  German  and  whose 
German  she  did  not  understand,  she  had  been,  by 
fate,  abominably  badly  used.  But  of  what  use  to 
point  that  out  to  Madame?  especially  as  explana- 
tions in  English  were  at  all  times  difficult.  Mees 


278  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

was  different.  Mees  spoke  French,  Mees  was  un- 
derstanding, Mees  had  sympathy. 

It  was  Mees  who  came  to  the  rescue. 

"I  know  she  muddled,  Mummy,  but  German's  a 
dreadful  language  to  understand;  and  it  was 
partly  my  fault  for  jumping  into  a  puddle;  and 
then  what  with  the  rain — and  altogether  ...  If 
you  had  seen  us,  Mummy,  and  hadn  't  known  I  was 
me,  you  might  have  thought  we  were — well,  any- 
thing." 

"I  really  cannot  overlook  it,  Dorrie:  it  was 
inexcusable.  To  profess  to  know  German  thor- 
oughly! And  then  not  to  come  straight  and  tell 
me !  I  really  cannot. ' ' 

But  Dorrie  continued  to  plead,  and  Dorrie,  as 
usually  happened,  in  the  end  got  her  way.  It  took 
her  some  time,  for  Georgina,  when  she  heard  of 
Dome's  experiences  in  the  clinic,  was  more  bitter 
against  Augustine  than  before.  To  think  of  Dor- 
rie being  shut  all  night  in  a  ward  with  other  girls 
— common  girls!  It  was  unspeakable;  and  most 
certainly  must  never  be  spoken  of  in  Stottleham; 
on  that  point  she  was  more  firmly  resolved  than 
ever  before.  Suppose  that  Lady  Clementina  were 
to  hear  of  it !  That  Dorrie  while  in  the  clinic  had 
been  inoculated,  though  to  Dorrie  it  was  the  chief 
grievance  of  her  detention,  was  to  Georgina  a 
minor  matter.  Inoculation  was  perfectly  respect- 
able, even  fashionable,  and  the  little  mark  on 
Dorrie 's  arm  caused  by  the  injection  would  soon 
pass  away.  It  was  the  company  she  had  been 
in  that  was  so  objectionable;  and  the  fact  that  she 


GERMANY  279 

had  actually  been  mistaken  for  a  girl  of  the  peas- 
ant class  was  to  Georgina  gall  and  wormwood.  It 
was  this  that  made  Augustine's  crime  almost  un- 
forgivable, and  would  have  placed  it  beyond  the 
possibility  of  pardon,  save  for  one  mitigating  fact, 
namely  Augustine's  acceptance  of  the  position  of 
criminal.  At  least,  said , Georgina,  she  acknowl- 
edged her  fault;  and  the  acknowledgment  a  little 
weighed  down  the  scale  of  Dorrie's  pleading. 

Augustine  accepted  the  position  because  there 
was  no  other  position  to  accept.  She  felt  that  fate 
had  made  her,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  scapegoat  of 
a  concatenation  of  circumstance,  that  though  it 
had  been  her  fault,  it  had  not  been  all  her  fault; 
yet  that  still  in  some  measure  her  fault  it  had  been. 
It  had  been,  for  instance,  partly  her  fault  that 
Mees  had  been  left  at  the  clinic ;  and  when  she  was 
made  to  realize,  as  she  was  on  the  evening  of 
Mees's  return,  how  terrible  it  was,  or  might  have 
been,  for  Mees,  she  felt  that  no  position  assigned  to 
her  could  be  too  abject. 

So  Augustine  took  the  position  of  criminal,  and 
Dorrie  took  the  position  of  advocate,  and  Geor- 
gina, having  taken  the  position  of  judge,  was  in- 
duced at  the  last  to  recommend  the  criminal  for 
mercy.  And  thus  they  all  three  left  Laubach  to- 
gether. 


BOOK  VII 
AUGUSTINE 

CHAPTER  I 

GEORGINA  in  France,  and  even  more  in  Ger- 
many, missed  Mrs.  Vearing  and  Dr.  Rayke 
and  Stottleham,  but  not  so  much  as  Mrs.  Vearing 
missed  dearest  Georgina,  as  Dr.  Rayke  missed  his 
intelligent  friend,  or  as  Stottleham  missed  dear 
Mrs.  Bonham. 

The  Guild  meetings  had  lost  much  of  their 
savour;  Mrs.  Bonham,  with  her  nice  clothes,  her 
nice  ideas,  and  her  bows,  smiles  and  handshakes 
nicely  graduated  according  to  the  different  sets, 
had  been — not  its  central  interest,  for  the  work  of 
course  was  that,  but  its  chief  inspiration.  Mrs. 
Vearing — yes,  Mrs.  Vearing  was  nice,  too,  and 
very  kind,  and  more  approachable  than  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham; Miss  Truefitt  preferred  her;  but  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  very  unapproachableness  invested  her  with 
interest,  for  there  was  always  the  question,  not  to 
say  the  excitement,  of  seeing  how  far  she  could 
be  approached,  and  whether,  out  of  her  own  set, 
some  would  approach  her  more  nearly  than  others. 
Mrs.  Vearing,  her  satellite — though  as  far  as  posi- 
tion, Miss  Truefitt  said,  above  her — had  always 
been  as  a  charming  moon  to  Mrs.  Bonham 's  sun, 
and  was  charming  still;  but  in  Mrs.  Bonham 's  ab- 
sence she  seemed  a  moon  that  was  always  in  a 

281 


282  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

waxing  crescent  or  a  waning  bow,  and  never  at  the 
full. 

Yet  it  was  from  Mrs.  Vearing  alone  that  news 
was  given  of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  to  all  the  sets  in 
Stottleham.  Throughout  the  winter  the  news  was 
communicated  to  the  Guild;  and  when,  in  the 
spring,  the  Guild  meetings  ceased,  it  was  given  out 
at  tea-tables  in  the  best  set,  and  during  parochial 
calls  in  the  others. 

Mrs.  Ludovic  Pottlebury  was  much  in  request  at 
this  time  in  the  second  set,  for  Mrs.  Vearing  told 
as  many  details  to  Patricia  in  the  course  of  confi- 
dential teas  at  the  Vicarage  or  over  the  Bank  as 
she  communicated  at  social  teas  to  the  church  set ; 
and  the  more  detailed  the  account  of  Mrs.  Bonham 
and  her  doings,  the  deeper  the  interest  in  all  the 
sets.  So,  first  through  Mrs.  Vearing,  then  through 
Patricia,  and  then  through  divers  newsmongers, 
the  outstanding  events  of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 's 
sojourn  on  the  Continent  (for  thus  Georgina's  ab- 
sence was  frequently  described)  and  some  of  the 
lesser  ones  were  made  known  to  Stottleham. 

Thus  it  was  that,  when  Len  ran  over  to  Paris, 
Stottleham  was  aware  of  it. 

"Mr.  Fortescue  is  in  Paris,  with  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Bonham.  Did  you  know?" 

"I  heard  they  expected  him.  By  the  night  boat, 
I  believe,  last  Friday. ' ' 

"Oh  no;  he  left  Charing  Cross  early  on  Satur- 
day morning." 

"Charing  Cross!  I  understood  he  had  gone  by 
the  Dieppe  route  from  Victoria." 


AUGUSTINE  283 

"I  think  not.    Mrs.  Pottlebury,  I  am  sure,  said 
Dover  and  Calais." 

Mrs.  Pottlebury  was  constantly  brought  in  to 
clinch  the  argument,  and  there  were  many  argu- 
ments to  be  clinched.  They  increased,  in  fervour 
and  in  points  of  difference,  when  Georgina  and 
Dorrie  left  France  for  Germany.  The  station 
from  which  they  had  started,  the  route  they  fol- 
lowed, the  towns  they  stopped  at;  all  these  were 
food  for  discussion,  and  all  these,  sometimes  quite 
hotly,  were  discussed. 

The  incident  of  the  fly  in  Mrs.  Bonham 's  eye  was 
told  only  to  a  few;  but  it  leaked  out  and  spread 
like  wildfire,  its  final  version  being  that  dear  Mrs. 
Bonham  had  had  a  serious  accident,  that  both  her 
eyes  were  injured,  and  that  an  operation  had  been 
performed  at  an  hotel.  When  Mrs.  Vearing  heard 
of  this  version,  she  sent  round  Patricia  Pottlebury 
as  a  sort  of  walking  official  bulletin  to  give  the  true 
statement  of  the  case.  Patricia,  during  the  Bon- 
hams'  travels,  was  often  an  official  bulletin,  when 
she  was  not  an  extra  special  news-sheet. 

She  was  an  extra  special — outside  the  church  set 
— in  connection  with  the  lordly  life  at  the  Castle. 
She  knew  the  very  latest  happenings  in  that  life ; 
the  last  strange  German  dish  that  Mrs.  Bonham 
had  had  for  lunch,  and  the  most  recent  expedition 
which  had  been  enjoyed  by  Mrs.  Bonham,  Miss 
Bonham,  the  two  Grafs  and  the  three  Grafins, 
Stottleham  was  much  impressed  by  the  three 
Grafins,  more  so  than  by  the  two  Grafs. 
Dorrie  occasionally  wrote  to  Patricia,  but  Dorrie 


284  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

wrote  such  long  letters  to  Len,  that  she  had  not 
nmch  time  to  write  to  anybody  else,  and  it  was 
through  Mrs.  Vearing  that  Patricia — and  after 
Patricia,  Stottleham — learned  that  Dorrie  had  cut 
her  foot.  It  was  cut  to  the  bone  before  the  news 
reached  the  outer  fringe,  and  much  sympathy  was 
expressed  with  poor  Mrs.  Bonham  because  her 
sweet  daughter  had  nearly  bled  to  death.  And 
she  engaged  too!  Poor  young  Mr.  Fortescue! 

Stottleham  heard  of  the  healing  of  the  foot,  but 
it  had  no  slightest  hint  of  the  clinic :  it  did  not  even 
know  that  Dorrie,  at  Laubach,  had  seen  a  doctor. 
Georgina,  in  mentioning  the  couple  of  days'  stay 
at  Laubach,  did  not  mention  the  doctor  any  more 
than  she  mentioned  the  clinic.  There  were  several 
things  which,  in  her  letters  to  Mrs.  Vearing  and  to 
Bayke,  she  did  not  mention ;  as,  for  instance,  that 
she  liked  the  German  beer,  and  that  Augustine, 
as  a  travelling  maid,  was  not  the  success  she  had 
anticipated. 

But  Stottleham  could  not  complain;  nor  did  it: 
it  was  ignorant  of  its  own  ignorance  and  rejoiced 
in  a  knowledge  which  it  held  to  be  complete. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "when  dear 
Mrs.  Bonham  returns,  she  will  be  able  to-  tell  us 
all  sorts  of  delightful  anecdotes  which  she  has  not 
time  or  space  for  in  her  letters.  And  darling 
Dorrie  too.  I  shall  give  a  special  tea-party  to 
welcome  them  back  and  hear  their  impressions." 

"I  hope  Miss  Bonham  has  quite  got  over  hier 
accident,"  said  Mrs.  Charles  Marsden. 

Mrs.  Saunders-Parr  answered  her. 


AUGUSTINE  285 

"Oh,  quite.  I  heard  from  my  sister-in-law— 
Len  's  mother — yesterday,  and  she  said  they  wrote 
the  wound  had  healed  soon  after  they  left  the  von 
Holzigers,  and  that  must  be  more  than  three  weeks 
ago." 

"Yes,  it's  about  a  month,"  said  Gwendolen 
Saunders-Parr,  "for  the  last  letter  I  had  from 
Dorrie  was  written  a  month  ago — just  after  they 
left  Laubach,  and  they  stayed  a  day  or  two  at  Lau- 
bach  after  leaving  the  Castle." 

"It  did  quite  heal,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing,  "but  I 
heard  from  Georgina  Bonham  this  morning,  and 
she  says  she  is  sure  that  the  poison  or  whatever 
got  into  it  is  not  yet  out  of  her  system." 

"They  thought  some  dirt  got  in,  didn't  they?" 
asked  Miss  Chauncey. 

"Yes,  or  a  little  dye  from  the  stocking.  At  first 
they  were  afraid  it  might  be  troublesome,  but 
it  was  was  all  right — Dorrie  is  so  healthy,  you 
know — and  it  healed  perfectly,  Mrs.  Bonham 
wrote." 

"Then  what  has  happened,"  asked  Mrs.  Mars- 
den,  "to  make  Mrs.  Bonham  think — I  hope  it 
hasn't  opened  again.  I  always  think  it's  a  bad 
sign  if  a  wound  opens  again  after  it  has  healed." 

"No,  it  isn't  that;  it  was  such  a  small  affair  I 
don't  think  it  would  be  likely  to,  after  once  healing 
up.  But  Dorrie  seems  out  of  sorts  and  so  Mrs. 
Bonham  feels  sure  there  must  have  been  some  sort 
of  poison  and  that  it  got  into  her  blood." 

"Being  out  of  sorts,"  said  Mrs.  Saunders-Parr, 
"might  come  from  anything." 


286  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"It  might  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  wound  at 
all,"  added  Miss  Chauncey. 

'  *  Only  it  happens  to  have  come  on  after  she  had 
the  wound  and  not  before,"  said  Mrs.  Vearing. 
Her  tone  was — for  Mrs.  Vearing — tart.  If  Geor- 
gina  Bonham  thought  that  Dorrie's  indisposition 
was  connected  with  the  cut  on  her  foot,  connected 
with  the  cut  the  indisposition  must  be.  Surely 
dearest  Georgina,  who  was  on  the  spot,  knew  bet- 
ter what  she  was  talking  about  than  did  people  who 
had  not  seen  Dorrie  for  months. 

Miss  Chauncey,  however,  was  not  to  be  put 
down;  she  was  moreover  supported  by  Mrs. 
Saunders-Parr ;  and  the  two  narrated  instance 
after  instance  of  illnesses  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  wounds. 

Mrs.  Vearing  was  nettled,  but  she  had  no  power 
to  sting.  She  never  could  sting,  nor  could  she 
argue ;  and  she  knew  that  if  she  tried  to  prove  her 
point  in  words,  the  words  would  not  come  right 
and  the  point  would  go  astray.  If  Georgina  her- 
self had  been  there!  Then  indeed  those  who 
thought  they  knew  better  than  she  did  would  have 
received  a  merited  snub.  But  dearest  Georgina, 
alas,  was  not  there,  and  Mrs.  Vearing,  unable  to 
snub  on  her  behalf,  was  reduced  to  being  herself 
almost  snubbed.  All  she  could  do  was,  as  quickly 
as  possible,  to  change  the  subject,  and  to  turn  it 
altogether  away  from  Mrs.  Bonham.  At  any  rate, 
if  they  scouted  Georgina 's  opinions,  they  should 
hear  no  more  of  her  doings.  It  was  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing's  only  possible  retaliation  and  she  adopted 


AUGUSTINE  287 

and  stuck  to  it.  She  parried  with  cold  courtesy 
any  further  enquiries  concerning  dear  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham. 

CHAPTER  II 

Georgina,  meanwhile,  was  convinced  that  the 
German  food  did  not  agree  with  Dorrie. 

She  and  Dorrie  and  the  forgiven  Augustine  were 
at  Frankfort  when  she  wrote  and  told  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing  about  the  indisposition  which  had  created 
almost  a  breach  of  the  peace  in  the  Vicarage  draw- 
ing-room. In  that  same  letter  Georgina  had 
spoken  of  the  Palm  Gardens,  and  the  promenades 
round  the  town,  and  the  beautiful  woods  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  the  excellence  of  the  hotel; 
also  of  a  tendency  showing  itself  in  Augustine  to 
be  hysterical.  All  this  would  have  immensely  in- 
terested Georgina 's  set,  and  all  this  would  have 
been  communicated  to  it,  had  not  certain  members 
of  that  set  taken  upon  themselves  to  question  Mrs. 
Bonham's  diagnosis  of  the  condition  of  Dome's 
health. 

But  Georgina,  mentioning  so  much,  had  not  men- 
tioned certain  symptoms  which  secretly  but  consid- 
erably troubled  her.  One  was  that  Dorrie 's  inocu- 
lated arm  had  not  healed  satisfactorily;  there  was 
inflammation  and  what  Georgina  called  a  sort  of 
sore  where  there  should  have  been  soft  white  skin. 
The  other  was  that  a  sore  place  had  appeared  on 
Dorrie 's  lip.  All  this  pointed,  in  Georgina 's 
opinion,  to  something  wrong  with  the  blood,  and 


288  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

was  the  more  disturbing  inasmuch  as  Dorrie  had 
never  had  anything  of  the  kind  before.  That  the 
German  food  had  much  to  do  with  her  condition 
Georgina  had  no  doubt,  but  she  was  convinced  also 
that  the  wound  in  her  foot  had  been  poisoned,  and, 
convinced  therefore  that  Dr.  Reisen's  diagnosis 
had  been  wrong,  she  was  more  angry  with  him  than 
ever.  His  stupidity  and  incompetency  were  un- 
equalled. No  wonder  he  had  muddled  Dome's 
identity,  when  he  had  proved  himself  quite  inca- 
pable of  dealing  with  her  foot. 

It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  Georgina  to  speak 
of  Dorrie 's  symptoms  and  her  own  disquietude  to 
Mrs.  Vearing,  but  she  had  refrained  from  doing  so 
because  Dorrie  was  so  upset  about  her  arm  and  lip 
and  had  asked  her  not  to  say  anything  about  them. 

Dorrie  did  not  care  about  her  arm — compara- 
tively speaking.  She  had  cared  at  first,  because 
she  was  used  to  a  perfectly  clear  and  healthy  skin ; 
but  compared  with  her  lip — her  face,  it  didn't  mat- 
ter at  all:  when  her  lip  became  what  she  called 
disgusting  the  arm  sank  into  insignificance.  Her 
arm — all  day  at  any  rate — was  covered;  nobody 
could  see  it:  she  need  hardly  see  it  herself.  But 
her  lip !  If  it  should  not  be  all  right  by  the  time 
that  she  saw  Len!  And  the  time  for  seeing  Len 
was  drawing  near. 

How  she  looked  forward  to  that  time !  And  now 
it  was  shadowed ;  and  by  such  a  little  thing.  But 
the  little  thing  meant  much  to  Dorrie,  to  whom  it 
seemed  that  any  shortcoming  in  Len's  bride  was 
of  the  nature  of  a  wrong  done  to  Len. 


AUGUSTINE  289 

Georgina  laughed  at  her  and  told  her  that  she 
was  absurdly  vain;  and  reproved  her  seriously, 
saying  that  it  was  quite  wrong  and  irreligious  to 
care  so  much  what  she  looked  like.  And  Augus- 
tine assured  her  in  a  torrent  of  words — for 
Augustine  in  her  own  language  was  voluble — that 
her  lip  would  be  as  pretty  as  ever  it  had  been  long 
before  she  got  back  to  England. 

But  Dorrie,  in  spite  of  Mummy  and  in  spite  of 
Augustine,  was  greatly  upset.  And  she  did  not 
want  Len  even  to  know.  To  be  sure  he  had  said 
he  would  love  her  just  the  same  if  she  were  as 
ugly  as  sin,  and  she  knew  he  would;  but  she  did 
not  want  to  be  ugly,  and  to  Dorrie  the  smallest 
blemish  was  ugliness. 

Augustine  was  invariably  sympathetic  when 
Dorrie  spoke  of  what  she  called  her  ugliness,  but 
Georgina  at  last  became  angry — as  angry  as  it  was 
possible  for  her  to  be  where  Dorrie  was  concerned. 

"I  told  you,"  she  said,  "that  it  was  wrong  to 
think  so  much  about  your  appearance,  and  it's 
quite  as  wrong  to  talk  about  being  ugly — and  as 
absurd — as  about  being  pretty. ' ' 

"It  isn't  so  much  for  myself — though  it's  horrid 
to  be  hideous — it's  for  Len.  I  wanted  to  be  as 
pretty  as  I  could  for  his  sake." 

"Len  will  do  very  well." 

"It's  meeting  him  again,  Mummy,  after  all  this 
time  when  I  did  so  want  to  look  nice." 

"Really,  Dorrie,"  Georgina  exclaimed,  "you 
put  me  out  of  patience.  After  all,  what  is  it?  A 
mere  nothing,  the  result  of  this  horrid  foreign 


290  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

food;  and  it'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  you  get  back 
to  England  and  have  proper  wholesome  things  to 
eat." 

' '  You  think  so,  Mummy  ? '  * 

"Of  course  I  think  so.  What  else  should  I 
think?  It's  quite  wicked  to  make  the  fuss  you  do. 
Have  you  used  that  ointment?" 

"Yes,  but  it's  no  good." 

"And  vaseline?    I've  often " 

"Not  a  bit  of  use." 

"I  don't  suppose  they  would  be  of  use,"  said 
Georgina,  "if  it's  the  food,  and  if  the  poison  isn't 
all  out  of  your  system  yet. ' ' 

She  pinned  much  faith  to  a  return  to  English 
food.  As  Dorrie  had  maintained  that  the  German 
beer  did  not  agree  with  Mummy,  so  now  Mummy 
maintained  that  the  German  food  did  not  agree 
with  Dorrie.  Had  the  time  she  had  arranged  to 
spend  in  Germany  not  been  near  its  end,  Georgina 
would  have  cut  it  short.  She  was  not,  in  truth,  in 
spite  of  her  protestations,  quite  happy  about  Dor- 
rie :  she  was  not  in  her  secret  heart  persuaded  that 
Dorrie 's  condition  was  due  altogether  to  food  and 
to  poison.  She  began  to  doubt  if  she  had  been  so 
completely  wise  as  she  generally  considered  her- 
self to  be  in  keeping  the  lovers  so  long  apart.  She 
wondered  if  Dorrie  were  perhaps  fretting  a  little 
after  Len.  For  she  was  less  well  than  throughout 
her  healthy  young  life  she  had  ever  been.  She 
seemed  a  little  languid,  and  her  glands  .  .  .  Dor- 
rie had  never  before  suffered  from  swollen 
glands.  .  .  . 


AUGUSTINE  291 

Georgina  could  not  make  up  her  mind  whether 
it  came  from  the  food  and  the  accident  or  whether 
Len  had  something  to  do  with  it.  It  was  very 
annoying  if  it  was  due  to  Len:  she  would  much 
have  preferred  the  other  factors :  considering  that 
Dorrie  had  her  mother,  it  was  really  .  .  .  But 
anyhow  she  determined  that  as  soon  as  they 
reached  Paris,  where  a  week  was  to  be  spent  in 
buying  some  of  Dome's  trousseau,  she  would 
take  Dorrie  to  see  Dr.  Bechamel.  Dorrie  prob- 
ably required  a  tonic,  and  Dr.  Bechamel  would 
know  what  particular  tonic  she  ought  to  have. 

CHAPTER  III 

Having  determined  that  Dorrie  when  in  Paris 
should  see  Dr.  Bechamel,  Georgina  became  anxious 
to  reach  Paris.  She  found  she  was  becoming  anx- 
ious too,  to  be  at  the  end  of  the  tour:  the  tour, 
she  felt,  had  somehow  not  been  a  success — or  at 
least  the  last  weeks  of  it.  For  at  first  Georgina 
had  really  enjoyed  it,  the  moving  about  and  the 
hotels  and  the  sightseeing,  and  Dorrie  had  seemed 
to  enjoy  it  too,  and  Augustine  had  been  cheerful 
and  brisk.  And  the  time  at  the  Castle  of  course 
had  been  quite  delightful.  Georgina  had  been 
very  sorry  to  leave  the  Castle;  Dorrie  certainly 
would  have  been  sorry  too  had  it  not  been  for  the 
idea  of  getting  back  to  Len ;  as  for  Augustine,  she 
had  made  no  bones  about  declaring  her  regret. 

It  was  Laubach  which  had  spoilt  everything— 
Laubach  with  its  humiliating  experiences  and 


292  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Georgina 's  terrible  headache:  she  could  not  bear 
to  think  of  Laubach.  It  had  been  pleasant  enough 
in  Thiiringia  to  be  sure,  and  Thiiringia  followed 
upon  Laubach;  Dorrie  had  been  quite  merry  and 
well  during  their  stay  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
forest.  But  somehow — whether  it  was  that  Au- 
gustine had  become  rather  careless  and  tiresome — 
somehow  everything  went  less  smoothly  than  be- 
fore the  day  or  two  at  Laubach.  And  now  here 
was  Dorrie  out  of  sorts,  and  fretting — Georgina 
felt  sure  she  was  fretting — after  a  young  man  she 
had  known  only  a  few  months,  whereas  she  had 
known  her  mother  all  her  life;  and  here  was  Au- 
gustine getting  more  stupid  and  unreliable  every 
day ;  and  it  was  all  very  worrying. 

Georgina  had  no  patience  with  Augustine :  she 
had  forgiven  her,  but  she  almost  regretted  the  for- 
giveness. It  was  not  that  Augustine  was  inatten- 
tive; she  was  more  attentive  than  ever,  she  was 
lavish  of  attention;  but,  having  muddled  at  Lau- 
bach, she  seemed  unable  to  do  anything  but  muddle 
ever  since.  On  the  day  when  they  had  left  Lau- 
bach, she  had  seemed  really  quite  distraught,  and 
ever  since  she  had  had  periods  of  what  Georgina, 
in  writing  to  Mrs.  Vearing,  had  described  as  hys- 
teria. 

The  letter  in  which  Georgina  spoke  of  Augus- 
tine's hysteria  was  the  letter  whose  contents  Mrs. 
Vearing  in  high  dudgeon  had  in  part  withheld  from 
the  Vicarage  tea-party.  But  Augustine's  hys- 
teria, like  the  accident  to  Mrs.  Bonham's  eye, 
leaked  out,  for  Mrs.  Vearing,  the  day  after  the 


AUGUSTINE  293 

tea-party,  mentioned  it  to  Patricia  Pottlebury,  and 
Patricia  mentioned  it  to  Myra  Pottlebury,  and 
from  Myra  Pottlebury  it  wound  its  way  in  and  out 
of  Stottleham. 

Stottleham  was  greatly  interested,  and  it  was 
thought  very  trying  for  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  to  have 
an  hysterical  maid.  "So  awkward  at  hotels  and 
railway  stations,"  said  Stottleham.  But  at  the 
same  time,  as  Mrs.  Markham  pointed  out,  if  you 
ran  the  risk  of  taking  a  French  maid,  you  must 
be  prepared  for  anything.  French  people  were 
so  often  hysterical. 

"Not  hysterical  so  much  as  flighty,"  amended 
Miss  Ansell. 

"Or  immoral,"  put  in  Miss  Truefitt. 

Mrs.  Markham  said  that  hysterical  and  flighty 
were  the  same  thing ;  and  Miss  Ansell  said  no,  but 
that  flighty  and  immoral  were  much  the  same 
thing;  and  Miss  Truefitt  maintained  that  all  three 
words  had  a  different  meaning,  but  that  French 
people  were  flighty  and  immoral.  Whereupon 
Mrs.  Markham  declared  that  if  Mrs.  Bonham  had 
engaged  a  maid  who  was  immoral,  she  was  quite 
sure  she  would  never  keep  her ;  and  this  both  Miss 
Ansell  and  Miss  Truefitt  found  themselves  unable 
to  contradict. 

Meanwhile  Augustine,  who  was  certainly  not  im- 
moral and  was  not  naturally  flighty,  and  was  more 
unhappy  than  hysterical,  went  on  behaving  at 
times  as  if  she  were  distraught ;  and  when  Dorrie, 
finding  her  in  tears,  asked  her  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, she  said,  "I  love  you,  Mees,  and  soon  I  leave 


294  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

you";  and  when  Georgina  asked  her  what  on  earth 
she  was  crying  about,  she  said,  "It  is  because  of 
Mees." 

It  was  all  very  well,  and  Augustine  could  hardly 
be  blamed  for  being  upset  at  the  prospect  of  leav- 
ing Dorrie.  All  the  same  Georgina  felt  that  if  she 
would  only  be  more  careful  with  the  packing  and 
somewhat  brisker  in  looking  after  the  luggage,  it 
would  be  far  more  satisfactory. 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  Paris  Mrs.  Bonham  went  to  the  Hotel 
Brighton,  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  and  Dorrie  was  de- 
lighted with  the  hotel  because  they  had  rooms  high 
up,  in  the  front,  and  looked  right  across  the  Tuile- 
ries  Gardens. 

"I  like  it  ever  so  much  better  than  Germany, 
Mummy.  Don 't  you ! ' ' 

And  Georgina  agreed  that  she  did,  knowing, 
while  she  agreed,  that  Dorrie 's  liking  was  purely 
geographical,  and  that  if  Germany  had  been  nearer 
to  Len  than  France,  Dorrie  would  have  preferred 
Germany. 

But  Dorrie,  longing  to  be  back  with  Len,  yet  did 
not  want  to  go  back  till  she  was  what  she  called  fit 
to  be  seen. 

" Shall  we  go  and  see  Dr.  Bechamel  at  once!" 
she  asked  the  evening  of  the  arrival  in  Paris,  and 
Georgina  answered:  "Certainly,  darling." 

"To-morrow?" 


AUGUSTINE  295 

"To-morrow  morning.  At  least  we  must  find 
out  when  he  will  be  in.  I'll  'phone,  I  think." 

So  Augustine  was  commissioned  to  telephone, 
since  Georgina  was  afraid  of  being  answered  in 
French,  and,  with  Georgina  at  her  elbow,  made  an 
appointment  for  half-past  two  on  the  following 
afternoon,  as  the  doctor  would  be  out  all  morning. 

Dorrie  was  quite  excited  about  going  to  see  Dr. 
Bechamel,  and  Augustine  was  fully  as  much  ex- 
cited as  Dorrie. 

"If  he  only  makes  my  lip  all  right,  I  don't  mind 
anything.  I'll  take  the  most  disgusting  medicine 
he  can  invent." 

And  Augustine  replied  with  hysterical  fervour 
that  she  hoped  and  she  prayed  that  the  bon  Dieu 
and  the  doctor  would  soon  make  Mees  as  well  and 
as  beautiful  as  ever  she  had  been. 

Augustine,  tremulous  and  in  a  mood  which 
Georgina  found  extremely  trying,  when  she  and 
Dorrie  set  out  for  Dr.  Bechamel's,  was  on  the 
watch,  still  tremulous,  when  they  returned. 

She  followed  Georgina  to  her  room. 

"Madame,  what  he  say — the  doctor?" 

"He — I — he  said  it  was  the  kind  of  thing  he  did 
not  understand.  He — I  am  to  take  her  to  a  spe- 
cialist. ' ' 

"A  specialist?    My  God!"  said  Augustine. 

Augustine's  "mon  Dieu"  translated  into  Eng- 
lish had  always  jarred  upon  Georgina 's  sense  of 
what  was  reverent  and  befitting :  at  the  moment  it 
grated  on  her  nerves. 

"I  do  wish  you  would  avoid  your  French  bias- 


296  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

phemies  when  you  're  speaking  English, ' '  she  said 
irritably.     "You  know  how  it  annoys  me.'' 

But  Augustine  was  obviously  in  a  distraught 
mood  and  did  not  apologize. 

"What  specialist?  What  his  name!"  was  all 
she  said. 

Ordinarily  Georgina  would  have  resented  the 
question,  ordinarily  she  would  have  conveyed  to 
Augustine  that  she  was  presumptuous,  and  dis- 
missed her  without  answering  it;  but  then  ordi- 
narily Augustine  would  not  have  questioned,  for 
she  stood  in  considerable  awe  of  Madame.  And 
to-day  Georgina,  no  more  than  Augustine,  was 
quite  herself.  The  idea  of  a  specialist  had 
alarmed  her,  and  she  did  not  want  Dorrie  to  be 
alarmed.  If  only  Rayke  had  been  there !  or  Alicia 
Vearing!  But  there  was  nobody,  not  a  soul,  to 
speak  to.  Instead  of  dismissing  Augustine,  Ma- 
dame, taking  her  veil  off  before  the  glass,  an- 
swered Augustine's  question  to  Augustine's  reflec- 
tion. 

"His  name,"  said  Georgina,  "is  Maboeuf." 

Whereupon  Augustine's  reflection  burst  into 
tears. 

"Upon  my  word!"  exclaimed  Georgina,  and  she 
faced  now,  not  the  reflection,  but  Augustine's  very 
self.  "I  really  cannot " 

"It  is  the  nerves,"  said  Augustine.  "I  dry  at 
once  the  eyes";  and  she  did. 

"You  had  better  go,"  said  Georgina;  "you  up- 
set me.  And  take  my  coat,  please ;  it  wants  brush- 
ing." 


AUGUSTINE  297 

* '  And  the  hat  of  Madame  I ' ' 

' '  Well,  perhaps. ' '  Georgina  took  up  a  comb  and 
began  to  arrange  her  front  hair.  "I  suppose," 
she  said,  "he  is  a  skin  specialist." 

"One  would  suppose  so,  Madame." 

Augustine,  no  longer  hysterical,  departed  with 
the  coat  and  hat. 


CHAPTER  V 

When  Georgina  came  out  of  the  skin  specialist's 
two  days  later,  she  said  to  Dorrie  that  it  was  all 
most  satisfactory. 

"He  told  me,"  said  Dorrie,  "that  my  horrid  lip 
would  soon  be  all  right.  And  the  glands  and  ev- 
erything. Did  he  tell  you  the  same,  Mummy, 
when  you  saw  him  afterwards?" 

"Yes,  just  the  same." 

"It  is  a  relief.  Do  you  know  what  I'd  like  to 
sing!  'Oh,  let  us  be  joyful.'  Yes,  I  should— 
right  out  here  in  the  street. ' ' 

"I'm  very  glad,"  said  Georgina,  "very  glad- 
very  glad — I  'm  very  glad. ' ' 

"Why,  Mummy,  you're  like  a  parrot,"  laughed 
Dorrie.  "You " 

She  turned  as  she  spoke.  "Why,  Mummy,  how 
funny  you  look!  You're  not— are  you  ill, 
Mummy  ? ' ' 

"My  head,"  said  Georgina,  "is  aching  terribly 
—it  makes  me  quite  giddy." 

"We'd  better— you  must  have  a  cab.  You 
should  have  let  them  call  one  at  the  doctor's." 


298  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Georgina  in  the  cab,  "that 
I'm  going  to  be  as  bad  as  I  was  at  Laubach." 

"I  am  so  sorry.  Poor  Mummy!  And  just 
when  everything  seemed  to  be  going  to  be  lovely." 
In  spite  of  her  sympathy  Dorrie  gave  a  little  laugh. 
"I  shall  have  to  take  you  to  a  specialist  to  cure  you 
of  your  headaches.  I  hope  he'll  be  as  nice  as 
mine." 

Georgina  did  not  answer :  her  eyes  were  closed, 
her  brows  were  knit  as  though  with  pain. 

"You'll  have  to  lie  down  at  once,"  said  Dorrie, 
"as  soon  as  ever  we  get  back." 

At  the  hotel  Dorrie  spoke  to  Augustine  before 
Augustine  could  speak. 

Poor  Madame,  her  head  was  dreadfully,  but 
dreadfully  bad.  Augustine  must  come  and  help  to 
take  off  her  things.  And  was  the  sal  volatile  un- 
packed? and  where  was  the  eau-de-Cologne  I 

She  spoke  in  French.  Augustine  answered  in 
English. 

' '  And  Mees  ?  What  of  Mees  ? "  she  asked.  She 
looked  at  Madame. 

But  Dorrie  answered.  "Oh,  I?  I'm  all  right 
— at  least  I'm  soon  going  to  be.  It's  Madame  that 
matters  now.  Mummy,  you'll  go  to  bed  at  once, 
won't  you?" 

Not  to  bed,  Georgina  said,  but  she  would  go  cer- 
tainly and  lie  down.  She  wanted  nothing — just  to 
be  left  quiet.  No,  she  did  not  want  Augustine. 
She  knew  where  the  eau-de-Cologne  was.  And 
Dorrie  could  do  nothing  for  her.  Augustine,  if 
Dorrie  wanted  to  go  out,  could  go  with  her. 


AUGUSTINE  299 

Please  would  they  leave  her  quiet — not  disturb 
her?  She  would  ring  the  little  hand-bell  if  she 
wanted  Augustine  or  Dorrie.  And  if  they  were 
out,  there  was  the  chambermaid.  But  she  should 
not  want  anything.  She  was  quite  sure  she  would 
soon  get  to  sleep. 

But  Dorrie  insisted  upon  going  with  Mummy  to 
her  room:  Dorrie  would  not  go  till  Mummy  had 
taken  off  her  dress  and  loosened  her  hair  and  was 
covered  up  warm  and  comfy  on  the  sofa.  Then, 
having  darkened  the  room,  Dorrie  went. 

When  she  had  gone,  Georgina  got  up  from  the 
sofa  and  locked  the  door. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Georgina  Bonham,  when  she  had  locked  the 
door,  went  back  to  the  sofa.  She  did  not  lie  upon 
it,  but  she  sat  down;  having  sat  down,  she  looked 
at  the  carpet.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do,  nothing  else  to  be  done.  What 
could  she  do?  Except  just  not  to  let  Dorrie  know 
— at  any  rate  not  yet.  But — what  was  it  exactly 
that  Dorrie  ...  It  was  difficult  ...  the  special- 
ist ...  These  French  carpets — they  were  quite 
different  from  English — from  anything  in  Stottle- 
ham. 

Stottleham!  Georgina  raised  her  eyes  and 
looked  round  the  room.  Mrs.  Vearing — Rayke— 
Mrs.  Charles  Marsden— the  Saunders-Parrs.  .  .  . 
Were  they  real  people?  Both  couldn't  be  real — 
both  Stottleham  and — this. 


300  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

Georgina  tried  to  think,  and  could  not  think. 
The  numbness  of  shock  was  upon  her,  and  pres- 
ently she  began  to  feel  the  cold  that  follows  upon 
shock.  It  was  warm  June  weather,  but  she  shiv- 
ered, and  by  and  by  the  shivering  of  her  body  was 
recognized  by  her  brain.  She  got  up  from  the  sofa 
and  put  on  a  warm  dressing-gown  and  took  the 
little  brandy-flask  from  her  dressing-case  and 
drank  some  brandy. 

Then  she  was  able  to  think :  or  she  thought  that 
she  was  thinking.  What  she  really  did  was  to  go, 
over  and  over  again,  through  everything  that  had 
happened  between  her  entrance  of  the  specialist's 
house  and  her  exit  from  it ;  and  what  she  tried  to 
do  was  to  go  through  it  exactly  as  it  had  taken 
place,  with  everything  in  its  right  order ;  and  this 
was  what  was  so  difficult — to  get  the  order  right. 

Things  that  mattered  and  things  that  did  not 
matter,  all  that  the  specialist  said  and  did  and 
looked,  and  how  and  when  it  was  she  first  had  un- 
derstood. And  she  could  not  remember  just  ex- 
actly when  and  how,  which  sentence  had  followed 
which,  when  it  was  that  the  meaning  of  the  sen- 
tences had  first  come  home.  She  could  not  stop 
trying  to  remember  and  she  could  not  remember. 

Mrs.  Bonham  of  the  Beeches  had  known  that 
there  were  things  that — well,  that  were  not  spoken 
of,  not  at  least  by  people  in  any  sort  of  a  set.  But 
these  were  not  real  things — not  real  to  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham.  They  were  sort  of  in  the  world,  but  not  in 
any  world  that  mattered.  And  nice  people  didn't 
think  about  them ;  the  nicer  you  were,  the  less  did 


AUGUSTINE  301 

you  ever  dream  of  thinking  about  them.  They 
were  things  that  had  to  do  with  dreadful  people, 
things  that  were  walled  off  from  religious,  re- 
spectable people,  things  that  never  could  come 
within  miles  of  the  people  who  knew  and  were 
known  by  Mrs.  Bonham. 

And  now  they  had  come. 

There  was  an  illness — Mrs.  Bonham  had  known 
that — an  illness  that  had  something  to  do  with  an 
Act  of  Parliament.  Mrs.  Vearing,  one  day — in 
the  dusk,  when  it  was  nearly  dark — had  somehow 
arrived  at  mention  of  the  Act  (and  had  apologized 
for  the  arrival),  and  had  said  that  Adam  had  said 
that  Dr.  Eayke  had  said  that  it  ought  to  be 
repealed;  or  that  it  ought  not  to  have  been  re- 
pealed ;  Mrs.  Vearing  was  not  sure  which.  But  it 
didn't  matter;  it  was  no  concern  of  Mrs.  Vearing 's 
or  Mrs.  Bonham 's;  it  had  to  do  with  something 
which  could  not  affect  anybody  in  any  set  in 
Stottleham. 

And  now  Dorrie  .  .  . 

It  was  not  surprising  that  Mrs.  Bonham  could 
not  think.  Suddenly  into  the  bliss  of  ignorance, 
knowledge  had  come  like  a  knife :  the  mere  knowl- 
edge, the  mere  cutting  was  a  shock,  apart  from 
the  depth  of  the  wound,  apart  from  what  was 
wounded. 

Sitting  on  the  sofa,  Mrs.  Bonham  was  conscious 
of  the  cutting,  but  not  conscious  yet  of  the  extent 
or  full  nature  of  the  wound.  The  cutting  was  up- 
permost in  her  consciousness,  partly  because  it 
was  so  recent  and  the  shock  of  it  still  held  her,  and 


302  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

partly  because  she  dared  not  think  of  all  that  by 
the  cutting  had  been  sundered. 

Of  Dorrie  she  dared  not  think.  She  would  be 
cured  of  course.  The  specialist  had  spoken  of 
treatment  .  .  .  and  back  in  England  Rayke  .  .  . 
he  would  know,  advise  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  Never  could 
the  horror  of  it,  the  disgrace  .  .  .  Dorrie!  Mrs. 
Bonham's  daughter — guarded,  brought  up,  looked 
after,  as  in  all  Stottleham  no  one's  daughter  had 
been  cared  for,  protected,  watched. 

How!  As  the  shock  a  little  bit  wore  off,  that 
was  the  insistent  question.  How?  Instead  of  the 
interview  at  the  specialist's,  the  question  possessed 
her.  How  ?  Back  and  back  she  went,  through  all 
the  travels,  and  forward  again,  and  once  more 
back.  He  had  said,  the  specialist,  that  it  was  pos- 
sible in  all  sorts  of  ordinary  ways  and  places- 
hotels — waiting  rooms  .  .  .  But  surely  ...  Of 
the  hundreds  and  thousands  that  travelled,  Dor- 
rie ...  Some  special  place,  some  special  way, 
surely  .  .  . 

She  sat  there  on  the  sofa,  too  wretched  to  be 
restless,  and,  as  a  little  the  shock  died  down, 
anguish  arose:  the  blind  anguish  of  an  unimagi- 
native being  plunged  into  experience.  It  sur- 
passed any  suffering  she  could  have  believed  pos- 
sible :  nothing  could  exceed  it. 


AUGUSTINE  303 


CHAPTER  VII 

Yet  it  was  exceeded,  and  by  means  of  Augus- 
tine. 

That  evening,  when  Dorrie  was  safely  in  bed, 
Augustine  came  to  brush  Madame 's  hair.  Osten- 
sibly that  was  her  reason  for  coming,  but  Madame 
did  not  want  her  hair  brushed,  nor  did  Augustine 
want  to  brush  it.  There  was  something  Augustine 
wanted  to  ask  Madame :  there  was  something  too 
that  Madame  wanted  to  ask  Augustine.  Madame 
remembered  what  she  wanted  to  ask  only  when 
Augustine  came  in:  Augustine  had  been  remem- 
bering all  the  afternoon. 

For  weeks  Augustine  had  been  on  tenterhooks. 
Madame,  more  than  a  month  ago,  had  adjudicated 
to  her  the  position  of  a  criminal :  she  had  accepted 
the  position  and  had  then  by  Madame  been  for- 
given. But  fate,  as  well  as  Madame,  fate,  after 
befooling  her,  had  also  placed  her  in  the  position 
of  a  criminal,  and  all  these  weeks  Augustine  had 
not  known  what  fate  was  going  to  do;  whether, 
having  snared  her,  fate  would  tighten  the  snare,  or 
whether  she  would  be  granted  a  reprieve. 

Augustine  stood  before  Madame :  what  Augus- 
tine wanted  to  know  was  all  that  was  known  to 
Madame :  what  Madame  wanted  to  know  was  how 
much  Augustine  knew.  And  neither  could  obtain 
the  information  wanted  without  a  risk  of  giving 
herself  away. 

Georgina  was  the  more  unhappy  and  Augustine 


304  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

was    the    more    afraid.    It    was    Georgina    who 
began. 

"Bid  you  know,  when  I  spoke  to  you  of  Dr. 
Maboeuf,  what  kind  of  a  specialist  he  was!" 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"What  illness — disease f  " 

"Yes,  Madame." 

* '  How  did  you  know  1 ' ' 

"I  was  maid  here  in  Paris,  in  a  family  where  he 
came." 

1 '  And  you  knew — then  ? ' ' 

"In  families,  Madame,  the  servants  know  al- 
ways all." 

Georgina  waited ;  Augustine  waited  too. 

"Then,"  Georgina  said,  "when  I  said  it  was  to 
Dr.  Mabo2uf  I  was  to  take — we  were  to  go  .  .  .!" 

"Madame,  I  was  broken  with  fear." 

Georgina  looked  at  Augustine  and  then  she 
looked  at  the  floor. 

"But  he  is — he  might  be  a  specialist  for — other 
things.  Why  should  you  think  .  .  .?" 

Georgina  by  her  questions  had  largely  given 
herself  away.  Augustine  took  no  notice  of  her 
poor  attempt  to  find  covert. 

"Oh,  Madame,"  she  said,  "what  did  he  say  of 
Meeaf" 

Georgina  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  Augus- 
tine and  looked  away  again.  She  was  trying  to 
think  of  something  to  say  that  would  put  Augus- 
tine off,  but  she  could  not  think  of  anything,  she 
could  not  think  properly  at  all;  and  even  if  she 
had  thought  of  something  quite  clever  and  said 


AUGUSTINE  305 

it,  it  would  not  have  put  Augustine  off — with 
Madame 's  face  before  her. 

Augustine  knew  what  she  had  wanted  to  know, 
and  without  having  given  herself  away;  but  now, 
suddenly  and  completely,  without  being  obliged  to 
do  it,  she  gave,  threw  herself  away.  But  Augus- 
tine had  never  had  discretion.  She  wrung  her 
hands. 

*  '  It  is  what  I  fear  all  the  time,  always.  I  watch, 
I  fear,  I  hope.  My  God!  my  God!"  said  Augus- 
tine. 

11  You  feared  I  You°!  All  the  time?  What  do 
you  mean?" 

The  lethargy  in  Georgina's  brain,  the  numbness 
of  the  shock,  was  suddenly  gone.  Mrs.  Bonham  of 
the  Beeches  leapt  forth  to  life  again. 

Too  late  Augustine  saw  what  she  had  done,  and 
recognized  at  once  that  it  was  too  late :  with  Mrs. 
Bonham  she  knew  she  had  no  chance.  Sobbing, 
terrified,  wretched,  Augustine  fell  upon  her  knees. 

And  then  it  all  came  out:  the  reason  why  Au- 
gustine had  been  distraught,  and  why  she  had  been 
careless,  and  why,  so  often,  she  had  verged  upon 
hysterics. 

Augustine,  at  the  hotel  Laubach,  had,  it  ap- 
peared, betrayed  what  Madame  had  charged  her 
most  rigorously  to  conceal.  Not  on  the  first 
evening,  not  on  the  evening  when  Mees  was  kept 
at  the  clinic,  but  on  the  evening  following  upon 
Mees's  return.  Then,  overcome  by  misery — for 
Madame  had  not  yet  forgiven  her — by  misery  and 
indiscretion,  she  had  spoken  to  the  servants  of  the 


306  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

hotel  of  Madame 's  anger  and  its  cause.  And  the 
servants  had  told  her  .  .  . 

Here  Augustine  broke  off  and  blamed  herself, 
not  in  that  she  had  been  indiscreet,  but  in  that  she 
had  been  indiscreet  too  late.  Had  she  known,  only 
known,  on  the  evening  before,  nothing — in  all  the 
world  nothing — would  have  prevented  her  from  at 
once  bringing  back  Mees. 

Augustine  wrung  her  hands  and  wept  anew. 
Madame  needed  all  the  force  of  Mrs.  Bonham  to 
drive  her  on. 

The  doctor  Beisen,  Augustine  went  on  at  last, 
knew  much  of — what  the  doctor  Maboeuf  knew 
much  of.  But  the  doctor  Eeisen  had  made  experi- 
ments— very  many.  It  was  to  find  out.  On  ani- 
mals first  of  all;  and  then,  because  from  the  ani- 
mals the  results  were  not  sure  enough — then  in  his 
clinic  upon  .  .  . 

"Not — oh,  not  .  .  . f "  said  Georgina. 

"But  yes,"  said  Augustine. 

There  had  been  a — Augustine  did  not  know  the 
word — a  process,  she  called  it. 

"A  trial!" 

Perhaps.  ...  It  was  some  years  before,  and  it 
was  because  of  girls — young  girls — eight ;  the  serv- 
ants had  said  eight.  He  had  told  it  in  the  papers. 
He  was  proud,  because  of  his  discoveries,  and  he 
had  told  it,  and  there  had  been  a  process. 

"But "  Georgina  interrupted  Augustine — 

"but  he  is  still  there — free!" 

Yes,  he  was  still  there.  In  Germany,  Augustine 
said,  things  were  very  strange.  He  told  nothing 


AUGUSTINE  307 

now — not  in  papers:  but  there  was  talk — stories, 
that  still  .  .  .  And  the  servants  had  said:  "You 
never  know." 

And  this  it  was  that  had  haunted  Augustine. 
You  never  knew.  This  it  was  which  had  caused 
her  to  be  distraught  and  almost  impossible.  She 
had  watched  and  feared  and  hoped  and  prayed. 
My  God,  how  she  had  prayed!  And  then — and 
then  .  .  .  the  illness  of  Mees  .  .  .  and  at  the  last 
the  doctor  Maboeuf  and  the  face  of  Madame. 
*  *  Oh,  my  God ! ' '  said  Augustine. 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Georgina,  when  Augustine  had  left  her,  un- 
dressed and  got  into  bed.  She  undressed  because 
it  was  bedtime  and  she  was  accustomed  at  bed- 
time to  undress,  and,  having  put  on  her  nightgown, 
it  would  have  seemed  to  her  almost  indecent  not  to 
get  into  bed. 

She  got  into  bed  and  lay  down;  but  here  the 
bonds  and  bandages  of  custom  broke ;  she  could  not 
keep  on  lying  down.  She  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked 
into  the  darkness,  and  she  remembered  all  sorts 
of  things. 

First  of  all  she  remembered  her  visit  to  Herr 
Reisen  at  his  flat,  his  restless  striding  to  and  fro, 
his  astounded  comprehension,  his  angry  distress, 
his  suggestion  that  Dorrie  should  stay  on  at  Lau- 
bach  to  be  "treated."  "For  what?"  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  had  asked.  She  knew  now ;  she  understood. 
The  figure  of  Herr  Reisen,  radiating  dismay, 


308  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

seemed  to  pass  somehow  through  and  behind  all 
the  other  things  she  remembered. 

Amongst  these  other  things  she  remembered  first 
a  speech  of  the  Grafin 's.  The  Grafin  had  made  it 
while  she  was  writing  her  letter  to  Herr  Reisen; 
she  had  turned  round  from  her  writing-table  and 
made  it.  "He  is  a  very  clever  man,"  the  Grafin 
had  said,  "and  to  me  most  charming  and  most 
kind.  But  he  has  enemies,  he  has  been  attacked. 
There  was  an  action — I  do  not  know  if  that  is  the 
right  word — to  do  with  the  law — it  was  while  we 
were  in  France.  I  do  not  know  what  it  was  about, 
and  Fritz  (Fritz  was  the  Graf)  told  me  I  had  bet- 
ter not  go  into  it,  but  it  was  something  to  do  with 
his  scientific  work. ' '  Then  the  Grafin  had  turned 
back  again  and  gone  on  with  the  letter,  and 
Georgina  remembered  what  she  had  replied  to  the 
Grafin.  "He  looks  clever,"  she  had  said. 

Then,  after  the  Grafin,  she  remembered  things 
ever  so  far  back,  at  the  very  beginning  of  Dorrie's 
life.  People,  when  death  comes  near,  are  said  to 
see  the  whole  of  their  past  lives  suddenly,  in  a 
flash,  and  it  was  something  in  that  way  that  Geor- 
gina 's  memory,  flung  back,  showed  her  event  after 
event:  only  it  was  not  her  own  life  that  passed 
before  her,  but  Dorrie's,  and  it  passed,  though  with 
swiftness,  not  in  a  flash. 

She  saw  Dorrie  as  a  baby,  and  Hannah  applying 
for  the  situation  as  nurse,  and  Hannah  arriving 
and  established  as  Nurse.  She  saw  Dorrie  chang- 
ing from  baby  to  child  and  outgrowing  Nurse,  and 
she  remembered  everything  that  occurred  when 


AUGUSTINE  309 

Nurse  had  been  transformed  into  Hannah ;  the  con- 
versations with  Rayke  and  Mrs.  Vearing,  and  that 
Mrs.  Vearing  had  wanted  to  sit  in  the  arbour  and 
that  the  arbour  had  seemed  to  Georgina  damp. 
She  remembered  the  dinner  before  Nurse  had  been 
summoned,  the  cutlet  and  the  extra  half-glass  of 
claret,  and  everything  that  Nurse  had  said  and 
that  she  had  said  to  Nurse.  Then  came  the  first 
night  that  Dorrie  had  slept  in  the  dressing-room 
and  all  that  Dorrie  had  asked  for  and  wanted. 
And  after  that  came  the  nursery  governesses. 

Georgina  remembered  them  all,  every  one  of 
them;  not  all  the  names,  but  many  of  the  names, 
and  all  the  faces.  They  passed  in  procession  be- 
fore her  as  she  sat  up  in  bed:  Miss  Snell  who 
smoked  cigarettes,  Miss  Parkins  who  bit  her  nails, 
Miss — she  could  not  remember  the  name  of  the 
governess  who  ate  peppermints,  but  she  remem- 
bered her  face.  Then  there  was  Mrs.  Flores  who 
was  cruel,  and  Miss  Bell  the  suffragette,  and — 
again  the  name  was  not  there — the  teetotaller,  and 
Miss  Bootham,  the  anti-  .  .  . 

Georgina 's  pulses,  which  were  beating  quickly, 
beat  suddenly  in  a  succession  of  leaps.  Miss 
Bootham — she  did  not  see  Miss  Bootham 's  face  so 
clearly  as  some  of  the  other  faces,  but  clearly  she 
remembered  what  she  had  said.  Her  statements 
had  outraged  Georgina  at  the  time  because  they 
were  so  outrageous;  she  remembered  how  out- 
raged she  had  felt ;  and  at  the  Guild  meeting  they 
had  all  been  outraged.  And  Georgina  had  en- 
quired into  the  statements,  and  especially  the  one 


310  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

about  experiments  ...  the  animals  and  the  hu- 
man beings;  and  the  Vicar  and  Eayke  had  said 
that  it  was  false.  That  was  because  they  did  not 
know,  because  they  were  ignorant  of  Germans  and 
of  what  was  done  in  Germany.  It  was  only  Eng- 
land they  knew;  and  perhaps  France;  or  perhaps 
not  only  France;  they  might  have  known  all  the 
other  countries  in  the  world  except  Germany  and 
yet  not  have  known  that  Miss  Bootham  spoke  the 
truth.  To  know  that  Miss  Bootham  spoke  truth, 
you  had  to  know  Germany. 

At  the  thought  of  Germany,  the  pictures  of  Dor- 
rie  's  past  went  right  away,  and  the  sort  of  burning 
feeling  that  had  been  behind  them  flared  up  and 
filled  Georgina  and  the  room  and  the  darkness. 
She  knew  it  for  anger,  she  knew  now  how  bitterly 
angry  she  was;  it  was  more  than  anger.  And  in 
it  was  the  determination  to  bring  the  professor  to 
justice.  It  should  be  done.  She  would  make  it 
known,  the  infamy  of  him ;  it  should  be  known  ev- 
erywhere, all  over  the  world,  in  France,  America 
...  of  course  in  England.  She  would  expose  him 
and  bring  him  to  justice.  It  would  not  be  difficult, 
once  she  was  back  in  England.  There  were  am- 
bassadors, consuls And  then  there  was  the 

"Times." 

Suddenly  she  saw  a  past  copy  of  the  " Times," 
and  a  special  sheet  and  a  special  column  and  a 
special  announcement:  "A  marriage  has  been  ar- 
ranged between  Leonard  Reginald,  only  son  of  the 
late  Reginald  Fortescue  and  Lady  Clementina 
Fortescue,  and  grandson  of  .  .  . " 


AUGUSTINE  311 

A  blackness  of  fear  and  pain  fell  upon  Georgina. 
Would  it  ever  be?  Len  .  .  .  Lady  Clementina 
.  .  .  All  her  hopes  and  pride,  all  that  had  made 
the  splendour  of  Mrs.  Bonham  was  torn  in  a 
travail  of  humiliation.  And  worse  than  the  hu- 
miliation, worse  than  anything  that  could  happen 
to  herself  or  her  hopes,  was  the  thought — but  she 
dared  not  think  it,  the  thought  of  what  would  hap- 
pen to  Dorrie  if  ...  She  dared  not  follow  the 
thought. 

CHAPTER  IX 

Georgina  had  remembered  with  extraordinary 
clearness  the  childhood  of  Dorrie,  and  all  her  life 
she  remembered  it.  But  she  never  afterwards 
could  recall  with  any  clearness  what  took  place  be- 
tween her  first  visit  to  Dr.  Maboeuf  and  her  arrival 
in  England.  She  had  a  heavy  sense  of  what  she 
had  felt,  but  only  a' blurred  recollection  of  what 
she  had  done. 

She  remembered  that  she  had  gone  a  second  time 
to  see  Dr.  Maboeuf;  she  remembered  asking  him 
how  long  it  would  take  for  the  evil  to  show  itself ; 
and  she  remembered,  when  he  answered  her,  tell- 
ing him  of  what  she  felt  to  be  the  truth.  She  had 
told  him  with  no  doubt  in  her  mind  of  his  sym- 
pathy, his  indignation,  his  eagerness  to  expose 
Herr  Reisen ;  he  would  scout  and  condemn  him  as 
surely,  as  bitterly,  as  Georgina  herself. 

And  instead  of  scouting  Herr  Reisen,  Dr.  Ma- 
bo3uf  had  scouted  Georgina. 


312  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

There  was  no  proof,  he  said,  of  Mrs.  Bonham's 
accusation.  He  would  not  even  listen  to  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham.  The  treatment  Monsieur  the  Professor  had 
given  could  have  no  connection  with  the  indisposi- 
tion of  Mademoiselle.  As  for  the  dates — the  time 
— Mademoiselle  had  been  at  other  places  in  Lau- 
bach  besides  the  clinic  of  Monsieur  le  Docteur 
Beisen;  and  just  before  and  just  after  Laubach 
.  .  .  "Oh,  non,  Madame." 

Yet,  by  his  face,  Georgina,  always  shrewd  and 
now  with  a  shrewdness  doubled  and  trebled  by  the 
desire  to  find  out,  to  understand,  by  his  face 
Georgina  had  realized  that  he  had  known  the 
meaning  of  Dome's  arm  and  lip;  and  realizing, 
she  had  remembered  questions  he  had  put  to  Dor- 
rie,  questions  that  had  no  meaning  for  her  at  the 
time. 

Had  Dorrie  touched  her  arm  just  after  Herr 
Reisen  had  treated  it,  Dr.  Maboeuf  had  asked,  and 
then  touched  her  lip  ?  ' '  Oh  no, ' '  Dorrie  had  said ; 
but  he  had  continued  to  question  her  till  she  had 
told  him  that  she  had  bent  her  face  to  her  arm  to 
see  if  the  injection  had  any  smell. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  remembering,  had  recalled  these 
questions  to  Dr.  Maboeuf.  Why  had  he  asked 
them,  if  between  lip  and  arm  there  was  no  connec- 
tion? 

She  could  see  always,  as  she  went  over  and  over 
again  through  the  interview,  the  shrug  of  Dr.  Ma- 
bo3uf's  shoulders. 

"Once  there  is  an  opening  in  the  skin,  who  can 
tell  what  may  enter  ? "  he  had  said.  "  It  is  the  duty 


AUGUSTINE  313 

of  a  doctor  to  enquire  in  every  direction."  She 
could  not  remember  what  reply  she  had  made  or  if 
she  had  replied  at  all,  but  only  the  bitterness  of  her 
emotion. 

And  she  remembered  that  the  specialist  had 
shrugged  his  shoulders  again  when  she  had  spoken 
of  the  others — the  eight.  He  had  said  nothing;  he 
had  just  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  out 
the  palms  of  his  hands.  And  again  she  could  not 
properly  recall  what  she  had  said  or  done,  but  only 
what  she  had  felt.  She  did  not  remember  taking 
leave  of  the  French  doctor,  or  whether  she  took 
leave  at  all,  nor  did  she  remember  going  out  of 
his  house.  She  only  remembered  being  in  the 
street,  and  then  at  the  hotel. 

And  after  that  second  visit  to  the  doctor  she  re- 
membered buying  things.  She  had  to  buy  things 
because  of  Dorrie;  part  of  Dome's  trousseau  was 
to  be  bought  in  Paris,  and  Georgina  did  not  know 
what  to  say;  she  had  not  yet  made  up  her  mind 
what  she  was  going  to  say  to  Dorrie.  She  must 
wait,  till  she  got  back  to  England, — and  to  Rayke. 
And  in  the  meantime,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  she 
had  to  go  on  buying  things. 

In  the  bewilderment,  the  sense  of  darkness,  of 
upheaval,  of  disintegration,  it  was  to  Rayke  that 
her  thoughts  turned  most  for  help,  for  hope, 
almost  for  salvation.  He  had  been  so  wise  always, 
so  kind,  and  so  dependable.  She  thought  of  their 
talks,  their  consultations,  and  it  was  such  a  relief 
to  think  of  them  instead  of  the  other  things ;  how 
carefully  he  had  listened,  how  cleverly  he  had 


314  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

counselled.  At  the  time  when  Hannah  had  be- 
come Hannah;  and  again  in  the  testing  of  Miss 
Kimmidge;  and  times  upon  times — countless 
times. 

Georgina  half  wondered  whether  at  that  time 
when  he  and  she  had  so  nearly  joined  forces,  she 
had  been  wise  to  put  him  off.  If  he  had  been  her 
husband,  with  his  man's  knowledge,  his  under- 
standing of  what  women — of  what  Georgina  had 
not  known,  perhaps  this — all  that  was  happening 
might  not  have  happened.  She  did  not  know,  and 
it  was  too  late  now.  But  still,  even  as  things  were, 
she  could  turn  to  him ;  for  knowledge  and  skill  and 
sympathy  and  cleverness;  as  counsellor,  as  her 
very  dear,  trusted  friend.  She  seemed  to  see  her- 
self talking  to  him,  telling  him,  pouring  it  all  out. 
And  oh  the  relief  of  it! 

Only  a  week  ago,  it  would  have  seemed  to  Geor- 
gina that  to  hint  even  at  such  things  as  she  now 
imagined  herself  pouring  out  to  him,  would  have 
been  a  sheer  impossibility  because  it  would  have 
seemed  a  sheer  impropriety.  But  now!  The 
world  was  in  ruins  now,  and  when  the  world  is  in 
ruins,  it  does  not  matter  half  so  much  what  you 
do  or  say. 

In  ruins  her  world  was — but  for  Eayke.  He 
stood  up  out  of  the  ruins  straight  and  strong. 
Georgina,  spent  with  anxiety  and  bewilderment, 
felt  a  measure  almost  of  hope,  almost  of  cheer- 
fulness, on  the  morning  when  she  and  Dorrie  loft 
Paris  for  England. 


BOOK  VIII 
HANNAH 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  and  satisfaction  that 
Mrs.  Bonham  set  foot  on  English  soil.  She 
had  always  believed  that  English  people,  English 
customs,  English  ideas,  English  speech,  English 
everything,  were  superior  to  anything  belonging 
to  any  other  nation,  but  never  had  English 
superiority  seemed  so  superior  or  so  consoling  as 
when  Georgina,  with  Dorrie,  landed  at  Dover. 
The  porters  who  spoke  and  looked  English,  the 
Custom  House  officials,  the  familiar-looking 
English  train,  even  the  half -cold  tea  at  the  station, 
all  were  consoling  and  also  fortifying  to  Mrs. 
Bonham. 

Dorrie  would  not  have  any  tea.  She  had  begun 
to  have  a  cold  the  day  before,  and  she  had  been 
seasick  during  the  crossing,  and  did  not  want 
anything  to  eat  or  drink.  But  Georgina  drank  a 
cup  of  tea  and  ate  a  bun,  and,  almost  without  know- 
ing it,  enjoyed  both.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
come  anywhere  near  enjoying  food  or  drink  since 
the  visit  to  Dr.  Maboeuf,  and  the  enjoyment  was 
due  to  the  relief  of  getting  back  to  England. 

All  the  way  in  the  train  she  told  herself  what 
a  relief  it  was ;  she  hugged  the  relief  and  the  com- 
fort of  it.  To  be  in  England,  the  land  of  justice, 

315 


316  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

of  freedom,  of  religion,  where  doings  like  Dr. 
Reisen 's  would  not  be  tolerated,  where  Dr.  Reisen 
himself  would  be  scorned  and  abhorred.  That 
horrible  Dr.  Maboeuf — to  Georgina  he  seemed  hor- 
rible— had  refused  to  condemn,  had  indeed  tried 
to  shield  him.  It  showed  what  he  was,  what  the 
French  were.  But  in  England!  In  England  the 
whole  medical  profession  would  unite  in  condemna- 
tion. 

She  looked  at  Dorrie  sitting  opposite  to  her, 
with  closed  eyes,  with  the  pink  of  her  cheeks  wiped 
out,  and  the  sweet,  blemished  mouth;  and  every 
ounce  of  tenderness  that  was  in  Georgina 's  soul 
went  out  to  Dorrie,  and  all  the  indignation  of 
which  she  was  capable  rose  up  and  burned  about 
her  thought  of  Herr  Dr.  Reisen.  Then,  through 
the  window,  she  saw  the  Kentish  hops  and  the 
serene  Kentish  landscape,  and  she  remembered 
that  she  was  in  England  and  took  comfort. 

For  once  in  England,  with  doctors  she  could 
trust,  there  was  hope.  That  horrible  man — whom 
she  had  not  thought  horrible  at  all  at  the  first 
visit,  but  charming  and  kind — even  he  had  said 
that  with  time  and  treatment  .  .  .  And  besides  it 
was  impossible — back  in  England  Mrs.  Bonham 
felt  it  to  be  impossible — that  anything  so  unspeak- 
able could  endure.  In  Stottleham  ...  oh  no; 
when  she  thought  of  Stottleham,  she  knew  it  could 
not  endure.  She  would  take  Dorrie  to  some  nice 
clever  man,  an  English  specialist;  and  she  and 
Dorrie  would  stay  in  London  for  a  time  till  .  .  . 
Dorrie  should  not  return  to  Stottleham  till  she 


HANNAH  317 

was  quite,  quite  well.  And  never  in  Stottleham 
should  it  be  known  that  .  .  .  except  to  Rayke. 
Rayke 's  advice  and  co-operation  were  essential; 
and  also  his  sympathy  and  his  strength.  Mrs. 
Bonham  had  never  wanted  to  lean — or  not  to  lean 
much — on  anybody:  Dorrie's  mother  felt  that  she 
wanted  to  lean  on  Rayke  just  now  a  good  deal. 
Rayke — Stottleham — England. — What  a  comfort 
it  was  to  be  back ! 


CHAPTER  II 

Georgina  had  telegraphed  to  Hannah  to  meet 
them  at  Charing  Cross. 

Augustine  had  been  left  in  Paris.  Georgina 
felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  bear  any  longer 
the  presence  of  Augustine.  Augustine  had  wept 
and  declared  it  was  not  her  fault,  that  she  was 
desolate,  that  she  would  have  given  her  life,  and 
God  knew  it,  sooner  than  that  harm  should  have 
come  to  Mees.  But  Georgina  could  not  put  up 
even  with  the  sight  of  Augustine.  It  might  not 
have  been  her  fault.  And  yet  it  was.  But  for 
her  stupidity,  her  pretending  to  know  German— 
In  spite  of  her  tears  and  protestations,  and  in 
spite  of  Dorrie's  intercessions,  for  Dorrie  was 
sorry  for  Augustine,  Augustine  was  left  in  Paris. 

"Mummy,  I  think  you're  rather  hard  on  poor 
Augustine,"  Dorrie  had  said.  "She  can't  help 
losing  her  head  over  the  packing  sometimes ;  and 
she's  very  obliging." 

"I  know  what  I  am  doing,"  Georgina  had  re- 


318  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

plied;  and  Dorrie  knew  from  Mummy's  face  and 
voice  that  Augustine  had  no  chance. 

And  once  Augustine  had  been  said  good-bye  to, 
Dorrie  could  not  help  feeling  rather  glad,  since 
saying  good-bye  to  Augustine  meant  saying  how  do 
you  do  to  Hannah.  And  Hannah,  though  outside 
she  was  housemaid,  had  never  stopped — in  her  own 
inside  and  in  Dome's — being  Nurse. 

Georgina  had  telegraphed  to  Hannah  to  meet 
them,  and  there,  on  the  platform,  was  Hannah, 
with  her  face  what  Dorrie  called  bunched  up; 
it  was  a  peculiarity  of  Hannah's  face  when  she 
was  moved;  moved  to  joy  that  is  to  say,  for  sor- 
row made  her  impassive. 

Hannah,  with  a  bunched-up  face  and  hungry 
eyes,  was  searching  the  length  of  the  train;  but 
not  for  long;  she  saw  Dorrie  the  very  instant  she 
got  out. 

"Oh,  Hannah,"  said  Dorrie,  as  soon  as  she  had 
finished  saying  how  do  you  do,  "don't  I  look  hor- 
rid?" 

"You  seem  to  have  a  cold,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"Yes,  I've  got  a  cold,  and  I've  been  seasick, 
and  .  .  ." 

"Come  along,  Dorrie!"  said  Georgina. 
"There's  the  luggage  to  look  after." 

Hannah  was  certainly  better  at  getting  the  lug- 
gage than  Augustine  had  been,  at  least  than 
Augustine  had  been  since  leaving  Laubach;  and 
soon  Georgina  and  Dorrie  and  Hannah  were  on 
their  way  to  the  Maiden  Hotel.  Georgina,  before 
telegraphing  for  Hannah,  had  engaged  rooms,  and 


HANNAH  319 

the  rooms  were  all  ready,  and  Georgina  felt  them 
to  be  very  English  and  satisfactory. 

She  was  thankful,  apart  from  the  satisfactori- 
ness  of  the  rooms  and  the  relief  of  being  in  London, 
to  have  the  journey  over.  She  had  begun,  before 
leaving  Paris,  to  feel  physically  the  strain  of  the 
Paris  week,  and  now  she  was  very  tired,  and  was 
thankful  to  think  there  was  no  more  travelling ;  she 
did  not  count  the  going  down  to  Stottleham  to  see 
Rayke  as  travelling. 

Georgina  was  very  tired,  but  not  so  tired  as 
Dorrie.  Dorrie  was  dreadfully  tired  and  said  she 
would  like  to  go  to  bed  at  once.  So  to  bed  she 
went,  tended  by  Hannah;  and  when  she  was  in 
bed  Hannah  brought  her  tea  and  toast,  which  was 
all  she  would  consent  to  have;  she  drank  every 
drop  of  tea,  but  did  not  eat  much  of  the  toast. 

Hannah  was  distressed,  but  Hannah  could  not 
remonstrate  much,  because  Dorrie  said:  "Now, 
Nurse  darling,  don't  bother  me!  I  want  to  go  to 
sleep." 

So  Hannah  could  not  bother  her;  she  could 
only  take  away  the  tray  and  hover  about  till  Dorrie 
was  asleep.  And  when  Dorrie  was  asleep,  she 
went  to  Mrs.  Bonham,  for  Mrs.  Bonham  had  said 
that  when  Hannah  was  done  with  Miss  Dorrie,  she 
wanted  to  speak  to  her. 


320       THE  THUNDERBOLT 


CHAPTER  III 

Hannah  went  to  Mrs.  Bonham  and  Mrs.  Bonham 
told  her  what  she  considered  Hannah  would  have 
to  know.  She  did  not  tell  her  of  Herr  Reisen  and 
of  the  clinic;  she  could  not  find  the  words  or  the 
courage  to  tell  her;  she  only  told  Hannah  what 
Hannah  had  to  know.  She  had  to  know;  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  keep  it  from  her ;  and  im- 
politic too,  for  Hannah's  help  was  needed.  As 
for  her  discretion,  there  could  be  no  discretion 
greater  than  Hannah's. 

Hannah  listened  with  a  face  as  impassive  as  her 
face  had  been  on  the  evening  when  Georgina  had 
broken  to  her  that  Dorrie  had  outgrown  her;  and, 
as  on  that  evening,  there  came  a  point  when  Geor- 
gina said  to  her  that  she  had  better  sit  down. 

When  Hannah  had  sat  down,  Georgina  said : 

"Did  you  know — of  such  things?" 

Hannah  answered:    "Yes,  ma'am." 

They  sat  in  silence;  till  Georgina  said: 

"I  never  knew." 

"You  was  brought  up  different  from  me," 
said  Hannah. 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  then  Georgina 
said:  "I  suppose  so." 

"I  was  brought  up,"  said  Hannah,  "so  as  I  had 
to  know." 

' '  Do  you  know — much  ? ' ' 

Hannah  stood  up. 

"Oh,  ma'am,  I  know  what  it  all  means." 


HANNAH  321 

"Don't!"  said  Georgina:  she  spoke  to  some- 
thing in  Hannah's  face  and  voice. 

"Sit  down  again!" 

Hannah  obeyed. 

"Then  you  know  that  there's  a — that  it  can  be 
cured. ' ' 

"Ye-es.    Only  you  never  know." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Georgina 's 
voice  was  sharp.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"I've  seen  cures;  and  the  children  had  it." 

Georgina  looked  at  Hannah  and  Hannah  looked 
at  Georgina.  There  was  terror  in  Georgina 's 
eyes.  There  was  something  in  the  eyes  of  Hannah 
that  held  Georgina  as  steel  holds  a  magnet. 

Presently  Georgina  said:  "But  it  can,  it  can 
— completely. ' ' 

Hannah  answered:  "I'd  sooner  see  her  in  her 
coffin  than  cast  off." 

"Cast  off?  What  in  the  world  .  .  .  please 
think  of  what  you're  saying." 

"I'm  thinking,"  said  Hannah,  "of  Mr.  For- 
tescue." 

"But,"  said  Georgina,  "when  she's  cured  .  .  ." 

"Women  marries  men — cured  and  sometimes 
not,  but  men  don't  marry  women." 

"But  Mr.  Fortescue — he — just  worships  her." 

"It's  because  men  know,  and  women  doesn't," 
said  Hannah. 

"But  he — Len — Hannah,  you  know  as  well  as 
I  do  that  he  worships  her." 

"If  7  was  him,"  said  Hannah,  "d'you  think  I 
wouldn't  have  her?  D'you  think  I'd  think  of  my- 


322  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

self,  or  the  children — if  I  couldn't  stop  'er  having 
any ?  D'you  think  I'd  think  of  anything  ex- 
cept not  breaking  her  'eartf  " 

"Well,  you  don't  suppose  you  care  more  than 
he  does?  The  idea!"  said  Georgina. 

Hannah  said  nothing. 

"Do  you  think,"  Georgina  said  after  a  while, 
"I  shall  have  to  tell  him? — now  I  mean,  before 
she's  ...  at  once!" 

"Yes,"  Hannah  answered,  "because  he'd  find  it 
out  and  that  'ud  be  worse. ' ' 

After  another  little  while  Georgina  said:  "I 
think — you'd  better  go  now,  Hannah." 

Hannah  got  up  and  went  away. 

She  went  up  to  the  unfamiliar  room  whither  she 
had  brought  certain  familiar  things;  her  Bible, 
Dome's  photograph,  a  green  silk  pincushion,  a 
blue  glass  bottle,  three  parts  full  of  the  aconite 
and  iodine  mixture  to  which,  rather  than  to  the 
dentist's  skill,  Hannah  pinned  her  faith.  The 
bottle  was  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  Hannah,  paus- 
ing as  it  caught  her  eye,  stood  and  looked  at  it. 

Years  ago  Mrs.  Bonham  had  reproached  her  for 
leaving  just  such  a  bottle  in  a  cupboard  that  was 
unlocked,  a  cupboard  from  which  Dorrie,  reaching 
up  from  a  chair,  had  extracted  it  and  spilt  the 
contents  on  the  floor.  "It  might  have  been  the 
child's  death,"  Mrs.  Bonham  had  said.  "Dr. 
Bayke  said  it  would  have  stopped  her  heart  beat- 
ing. ' '  Hannah  remembered  the  look  on  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  face,  the  sound  in  her  voice  and  the  misery 
in  her  own  heart  at  the  picture  of  what  might  have 


HANNAH  323 

been — a  misery  far  deeper  in  reproach  than  the 
words  of  Mrs.  Bonham.  Now,  standing  looking 
at  the  bottle,  the  thought  came:  Supposing  that 
what  might  have  been,  had  been,  would  it  perhaps, 
after  all  ...  She  could  not  carry  the  thought  to 
its  end,  not  definitely,  not  in  words. 

CHAPTER  IV 

The  next  morning  Georgina  told  Len. 

Len  came  bursting  in  before  Georgina  had 
finished  her  breakfast.  He  was  full  of  delighted 
expectation;  and  where  was  Dorrie?  It  seemed 
as  if  he  had  half  expected  her  to  be  waiting  for 
him  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel. 

He  had  arrived  last  night  late.  When  he  knew 
Dorrie  was  to  be  in  London,  of  course  he  had  to 
be  in  London  too;  but  her  letter  telling  him  that 
they  were  to  arrive  a  day  earlier  than  he  had 
expected,  had  only  come  by  the  evening  post,  too 
late  for  him  to  catch  any  but  the  latest  train. 
And  he  had  meant  to  meet  them  at  the  station! 
Wasn't  it  disappointing? 

Mrs.  Bonham  said  yes,  because  it  seemed  the 
only  thing  to  say ;  she  could  not  say  that  she  had 
made  her  plans  with  a  view  to  prevent  Len  being 
able  to  meet  them  at  the  station. 

But  Dorrie — now  that  he  was  here.  What  a 
bore  that  she  was  having  her  breakfast  in  bed! 
Of  course  if  she  was  tired 

"Very  tired,"  said  Georgina. 

''And  had  a  cold " 


324  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"A  bad  cold,"  said  Georgina. 

Well,  then,  of  course — but  it  was  beastly  rough 
luck.  And  how  long — when  would  she  be  down? 

Perhaps  not  all  day,  Georgina  told  him. 

"Oh,  I  say!" 

Suddenly  Len  's  face  changed.  *  *  I  say,  she  isn  't 
really  ill,  is  she?" 

"Yes,  she's — she's  rather  ill." 

"What  is  it?  How  long ?  Why  didn't  you 

send — wire  ?  What  is  it  ? " 

Georgina  was  trembling. 

"I  don't  know — L'en,  oh,  Len,  I  don't  know  how 
to  tell  you. ' ' 

Len's  face  was  white,  his  eyes  were  dim  with 
fear. 

"You've  got  to  tell  me." 

Georgina  told  him.  It  took  some  time  to  make 
him  understand. 

When  he  had  understood  and  had  gone  away, 
Georgina  went  into  her  bedroom;  it  was  nearly 
time  to  get  ready  to  go  to  Stottleham.  In  her  bed- 
room Hannah  was  waiting. 

"Did  you  tell  him?"  Hannah  asked. 

"Yes,  I  told  him." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  didn't  say  anything.  He  sat  with  his  face 
in  his  hands. ' ' 

"What  did  he  think?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Couldn't  you  tell  by  his  face?" 

"When  he  took  his  hands  from  his  face,  he  got 
up  and  went  away." 


HANNAH  325 

"He  didn't  say  nothing!" 

"He  didn't  even  say  good-bye." 

"I  was  watching,"  said  Hannah,  "and  I  see  him 
go  down,  but  I  couldn't  get  a  sight  of  his  face." 
She  turned  away.  "If  I'd  have  seen  him,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "I'd  have  known." 


CHAPTER  V 

All  the  way  from  Paris  Georgina  had  comforted 
herself  with  the  thought  of  seeing  Eayke,  and 
now  very  soon  she  would  see  him.  She  was  in  the 
train,  on  her  way  to  Stottleham,  really  on  the  way : 
in  a  little  more  than  two  hours  she  would  see  him. 

She  needed  more  than  ever  to  see  him.  She 
was  shaken,  unnerved,  near  to  breaking-point: 
there  was  not  a  soul  in  Stottleham  who  could  have 
conceived  the  possibility  of  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 
craving  for  support,  for  guidance,  as  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  craved  to-day.  She  had  been  always  sure  of 
herself  and  Stottleham  had  admired  her  self- 
security;  it  seemed  to  add  a  certain  security  to 
Stottleham.  But  now  she  was  not  sure  of  any- 
thing, not  even  of  herself:  there  was  nothing  she 
could  be  sure  of,  save  only  the  wisdom  and  the 
sympathy  of  Rayke. 

And  Rayke — what  would  he  say?  She  could 
imagine  his  horror  and  his  anger,  but  she  could 
not  imagine  his  advice.  But  the  advice  would  be 
there,  and  it  would  ease  the  terrible  pain  of  anxiety 
that  was  pressing  upon  her.  She  did  not  know, 


326  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

had  not  since  the  beginning  of  the  terror  known, 
what  to  do.  Eayke  would  know.  He  would  tell 
her  exactly  what  to  do,  which  way  to  take,  and 
she  felt  that  the  way  he  would  indicate  to  her 
would  be  a  way  that  would  lead  her  out  of  her 
trouble.  For  he  always  found  solutions.  There 
was  rest  in  the  very  recollection  of  his  past 
wisdom,  peace  in  the  fact  that  she  would  see  him 
soon.  His  mere  understanding  would  be  balm, 
and  she  was  assured  of  the  fulness  of  it,  and  the 
kind  look  in  his  eyes  .  .  .  and  the  soothing  voice. 
.  .  .  She  almost  seemed  to  hear  it  now,  through 
the  rumble  of  the  train:  "Dear  friend,  don't 
worry;  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

Where  were  they  now?  Ah,  just  past  Mugford. 
Every  mile  of  the  line  was  familiar  to  Georgina, 
and  each  landmark  assured  her  that  she  was 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  relief  she  craved  for. 

She  had  bought  several  papers  at  the  station; 
she  took  them  up,  opened  them  and  glanced 
through  them  one  after  the  other;  she  did  not 
want  to  remember  any  more,  nor  did  she  want 
to  look  forward.  The  thought  of  the  meeting  with 
Rayke  was  making  her  tremulous,  and  she  did  not 
want  to  be  tremulous ;  she  must  be  collected,  calm, 
able  to  tell  him  everything  with  the  lucidity  he 
admired.  So  she  looked  at  the  papers:  it  was 
something  to  do  and  it  gave  her  mind  a  little  rest 
from  rushing  on  and  backwards. 

Some  of  the  papers  were  illustrated ;  she  opened 
the  illustrated  ones  first  and  looked  at  the  pictures ; 
and  when  she  had  looked  at  them  all,  she  found 


HANNAH  327 

her  thoughts  leaping  back  again — to  Paris,  to 
Laubach,  or  forward  to  the  meeting  that  was  so 
near.  She  took  up  the  other  papers,  the  papers 
that  had  no  pictures,  and  scanned  the  pages  care- 
lessly. She  could  not  read  them ;  there  was  noth- 
ing in  them  that  could  interest  her;  papers  were 
concerned  with  the  outside  world,  and  in  all  the 
world  outside  her  trouble  there  was  nothing  that 
seemed  to  matter. 

She  glanced  at  the  headings;  they  occupied  her 
eyes  and  helped  to  keep  her  mind  steady.  She 
went  on  from  one  to  the  other — slowly,  so  that  they 
should  not  too  soon  be  done,  for  when  they  were 
done  her  mind  would  be  again  defenceless.  Then, 
in  her  languid  perfunctory  following  of  the  lines, 
her  eye  caught  a  name,  and  immediately  the 
languor  was  gone  and  in  its  place  burned  interest 
intense  and  keen. 

Georgina  read,  and  then  she  dropped  the  paper. 
She  picked  it  up  and  looked  at  it  again  to  see 
what  it  was  that  had  seemed  to  her  for  the  moment 
real,  to  be  actually  written  there :  for — so  she  told 
herself — her  brain  had  tricked  her;  what  she  had 
imagined  could  not  be  real. 

But  it  was  real;  or  else  she  was  mad. 

She  leaned  forward  and  said  to  a  lady  on  the 
opposite  seat: 

"Excuse  me!  would  you  mind  telling  me  what 
that  name  is?  My  sight  is  a  little  uncertain.' 

"With  pleasure.    It's  Keisen,  Dr.  Reisen." 

"I— I  thought  it  looked  like  that." 

"He  seems  to  be  well  known,"  the  lady  said. 


328  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

"A  German,  I  believe,  who  has  done  wonders  for 
medical  science." 

"Yes,"  said  Georgina.     " Thank  you." 

She  took  up  the  paper  again  and  read  once  more 
the  announcement  of  the  lecture  that  was  to  be 
given  by  Professor  Eeisen;  read  that  he  was  to 
give  the  lecture  to  an  English  medical  society,  and 
read  what  the  subject  of  the  lecture  was  to  be. 
Ten  days  ago  she  would  not  have  understood  what 
the  subject  was,  but  she  understood  now. 

It  was  in  her  mind  to  say  to  the  lady  opposite : 
"Do  you  know  who  he  is?  what  he  has  done?"  It 
was  in  her  mind  to  tell  her  all  his  infamy;  but  it 
was  not  clearly  there  because  her  mind  was  dazed ; 
she  was  too  dazed  to  be  able  to  speak.  She  said 
nothing. 

The  thing  she  had  read  was  beating  into  her. 
He  had  left  Germany  and  come  to  England  .  .  . 
he  was  here  in  England,  in  London  ...  he  was 
welcomed,  he  ... 

She  sat  with  the  paper  on  her  knee,  dazed,  till 
the  train  reached  Stottleham. 

CHAPTER  VI 

The  getting  to  Stottleham  brought  Georgina  to 
herself;  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  brought  her  also 
to  salvation.  She  felt  as  the  train  stopped  and 
she  got  out  on  to  the  platform  that  for  her,  then, 
in  the  chaos  that  had  come  to  her,  Rayke  and  sal- 
vation were  one.  And  now  he  was  very  near. 
To  reach  him  her  strength  would  endure;  after- 


HANNAH  329 

wards — well,  afterwards  she  would  have  his 
strength  to  cling  to,  to  lean  upon,  his  wisdom  to 
point  out  her  path;  and  always  his  sympathy. 

The  station-master  was  wreathed  in  smiles  on 
the  platform,  and  all  the  porters  were  touching 
their  caps.  They  were  greeting  Mrs.  Bonham 
after  her  sojourn  on  the  Continent,  and  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham  would  have  enjoyed  what  she  would  have 
accepted  as  Mrs.  Bonham 's  due.  Mrs.  Bonham 
would  have  responded  with  smiles,  with  ap- 
propriate enquiries  addressed  to  the  station- 
master,  with  appropriate  tips  bestowed  upon  the 
porters.  Mrs.  Bonham  had  pictured  just  such  an 
arrival  as  this,  only  with  Dorrie  and  Augustine 
and  many  boxes  and  the  greater  part  of  Dorrie 's 
trousseau.  The  dazed,  harried  soul  in  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham's  body  knew  only  one  desire,  and  that  was 
to  reach  Eayke. 

No,  she  had  no  luggage  .  .  .  just  for  the  day. 
It  was  a  beautiful  day,  yes,  and  she  was  quite  well, 
and  she  hoped  the  station-master's  wife  was  quite 
well.  She  gave  a  porter  sixpence  and  got  into  a 
cab. 

1  'No,  not  the  Beeches.    To  Dr.  Rayke's." 

In  the  cab  Georgina  breathed  with  relief:  there 
was  nothing  more  to  do  now,  to  think  about,  till 
she  saw  Rayke.  She  felt,  as  she  drove  down  the 
High  Street,  as  if  during  the  last  eight  or  nine 
days  she  had  been  holding  something  in  herself 
together,  as  if  she  could  not  hold  it  much  longer, 
as  if,  did  she  not  have  some  help  in  the  holding, 
the  something  would  break. 


330  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

She  had  chosen  a  closed  cab  and  she  sat  far 
back  in  it.  She  did  not  want  Stottleham  to  see 
her.  Once  seen,  Stottleham  would  flock  around 
her.  Mrs.  Bonham,  the  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  who 
had  gone  abroad,  would  have  rejoiced  in  the  flock- 
ing: the  dazed  Mrs.  Bonham  who  returned  shrank 
from  the  thought  of  it. 

Ah,  there  went  Miss  Pottlebury,  and  behind  her, 
a  few  paces  behind,  was  Mrs.  Charles  Marsden, 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  road  was  Miss  True- 
fitt.  Georgina  shrank  back  in  the  cab. 

Now  the  cab  turned  out  of  the  High  Street. 
There  was  the  church — and  the  Vicarage.  And 
now,  here  was  Rayke's  house. 

"Shall  I  wait,  ma'am?"  asked  the  cabman. 

4 'No,  don't  wait." 

Georgina 's  hand  trembled  as  she  paid  him ;  she 
trembled  slightly  all  over  as  she  waited  at  the 
door.  Such  a  long  way,  such  a  long  time,  but  she 
was  here  at  last !  Oh,  the  comfort  of  it ! 

The  parlour-maid  opened  the  door,  and  started 
with  surprise,  and  smiled  with  welcome. 

"You,  ma'am!  Who'd  have  thought  .  .  .? 
I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  back. ' ' 

"Dr.  Rayke— is  he  in?" 

* '  I  'm  sorry,  ma  'am  ..." 

"I  want  particularly  to  see  him,  I  must  see  him. 
I'll  come  in — will  he  be  long? — I'll  come  in  and 
wait." 

"He's  away,  ma'am." 

"Away?"  Georgina 's  voice  faltered. 


HANNAH  331 

"In  London,  ma'am.  There's  some  great 
doctor  come  from  abroad — Germany  I  think— and 
the  master's  gone  up  to  bid  him  welcome." 


CHAPTER  VII 

"No,"  said  Georgina,  "no,  thank  you,  I  won't 
come  in.  And  there 's  no  message,  no.  No,  thank 
you. ' ' 

"  I 'm  very  sorry,  ma 'am.    And  the  master  .  .  ." 

"It  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  said  Georgina,  "not 
in  the  least." 

Did  it?  Georgina  turned  and  went  along  the 
street,  back  along  the  way  she  had  come.  Did  it 
matter?  She  thought  not.  There  wasn't  any- 
thing really  that  mattered — not  very  much.  The 
thing  inside  that  she  had  been  holding  together, 
that  mattered;  it  mattered  that  she  should  hold 
it  still.  There  was  not  anything  else. 

"Mrs.  Bonham!  You?  Back?  Of  course  I 

knew  you  were  to  arrive  in  London,  but How 

nice  to  see  you  back!" 

It  was  Patricia  Pottlebury  who  blocked  Mrs. 
Bonham 's  way  with  a  beaming  face.  She  still 
wore  her  hat  on  one  side,  and  it  was  very  much  on 
one  side  now. 

"I'm  not — it's  just  for  the  day.  We  shall  be  in 
London  for  a  long  time.  How  are  the  children?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  well.  Baby's  just  got  his  third 
tooth,  and  Dorothy  .  .  .  But  I  want  to  hear  about 
you.  How  are  you?  You  don't  look — are  you 


332  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

quite  well,  Mrs.  Bonham?"  Patricia's  eyes  were 
puzzled. 

"Exceedingly  well,  thank  you.  How's  Mr. 
Pottlebury?"  ' 

"A  touch  of  rheumatism,  but  except  for 
that  .  .  .  AndDorrief" 

1  'She's  quite  .  .  .  She's  not  very  well." 

"I  am  sorry.    What  is  it?" 

"It's — it's  influenza.  How  is  Miss  Pottle- 
bury?" 

"Thank  you  so  much.  Myra's  much  as  usual. 
I  hope  it  isn  't  a  bad  attack.  And  just  now — when 
she'll  be  wanting  to  get  her  trousseau.  You're 
staying  in  London  for  that,  of  course." 

' '  Of  course, ' '  said  Mrs.  Bonham.  "  I  'm  going, ' ' 
she  added,  "to  the  Vicarage." 

"Might  I  just  walk  with  you — as  far  as  that?" 
Patricia  turned  as  she  spoke  and  walked  along  by 
the  side  of  Mrs.  Bonham.  "Dr.  Rayke's  in 
London,"  she  went  on,  "to  meet  this  German 
doctor  they  think  so  much  of.  But  of  course  you 
know. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham. 

"He's  been  looking  forward  to  it.  He  told 
Ludovic  .  .  .  But  about  Dorrie.  It's  not  a  bad 
attack?" 

"Not  at — yes,  it's  rather  bad." 

"I  am  sorry.  But  not — you're  not  anxious 
about  her,  Mrs.  Bonham?" 

1 '  Oh  no,  I  'm  not  anxious,  I  'm  not  the  least  anx- 
ious." 

"I'm  so  glad;  I  was  half  afraid  .  .  .  Here  we 


HANNAH  333 

are!  Thank  you  so  much  for  letting  me  walk 
with  you.  Please  give  my  love  to  Dorrie." 

"And  mine  to  Ludovic,"  said  Mrs.  Bonham. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  what  she  was  saying; 
never  before  had  she  sent  any  message  of  greeting 
to  Ludovic  Pottlebury.  What  she  was  thinking 
was  that  Alicia  Vearing  had  been  always  kind. 

She  had  said  she  was  going  to  the  Vicarage 
partly  to  get  rid  of  Patricia  Pottlebury,  partly  be- 
cause she  had  to  go  somewhere,  and  the  Beeches 
was  still  shut  up,  partly  because  of  the  sense 
of  Alicia's  kindness.  She  could  not  stay  in  the 
street  till  the  train  went ;  she  had  the  feeling  that 
if  she  stayed  in  the  street  the  thing  inside  her 
would  break  loose ;  Alicia  and  her  kindness  might 
help  her  to  hold  it  together. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Alicia  had  been  always  kind,  and  to-day  she  was 
very,  very  kind.  It  was  too  delightful  to  see  dear- 
est Georgina,  and  too  sweet  of  dearest  Georgina 
to  have  come  down.  But  how  tired  dearest  Geor- 
gina looked !  and  Mrs.  Vearing  was  sure  she  had 
had  no  lunch.  The  Vicarage  lunch  was  over,  but 
there  was  plenty — Cook,  in  a  moment  .  .  . 

No,  said  Georgina,  she  had  a  headache,  she 
couldn't  really  .  .  . 

"Then  a  cup  of  coffee,  just  a  cup— and  perhaps 
a  biscuit.  It  will  pick  you  up." 

Georgina  agreed  to  the  coffee;  it  was  the  line 


334  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

of  least  resistance;  and  it  did  pick  her  up.  It 
picked  her  up  wonderfully,  perhaps  because  Alicia 
had  it  made  extra  strong:  it  took  away  the  dull 
heavy  feeling  that  had  been  pressing  upon  her  all 
the  time  she  had  talked  and  listened  to  Patricia 
Pottlebury,  and  made  her  feel  intensely  keen  in 
mind  and  in  memory:  it  made  her  feel  that  she 
wanted  to  talk  and  tell  things. 

After  the  coffee,  the  Vicar  came  in,  and  Adam 
as  well  as  Alicia  was  so  sorry  to  hear  that  Dorrie 
had  influenza,  and  Adam  as  well  as  Alicia  was  so 
sorry  that  Kayke  was  away.  Adam  supposed,  as 
Alicia  had  supposed,  that  Mrs.  Bonham  wished  to 
consult  him  about  Dorrie 's  influenza. 

Georgina  said  yes,  she  had  thought — if  he  had 
been  at  home  .  .  . 

What  a  pity  she  hadn't  known,  Alicia  said. 
Eayke  being  in  London,  it  would  have  been  so  easy 
to  see  him  there;  and  he  could  have  seen  Dorrie. 

Adam  said  he  could  give  her  Rayke 's  address; 
he  didn't  know  when  Rayke  was  coming  home, 
but  he  could  give  Mrs.  Bonham  his  address;  he 
supposed  from  what  Rayke  had  said,  that  he 
would  stay  on  in  London  as  long  as  Professor 
Reisen  did. 

And  then  they  both  began  to  talk  about  Pro- 
fessor Reisen. 

He  must  be  so  clever,  Alicia  said,  from  what 
Dr.  Rayke  had  told  them,  but  apparently  not  fully 
appreciated  in  Germany.  "So  extraordinary,  for 
I  always  understood  that  German  doctors  .  .  , 
But  a  prophet  in  his  own  country,  you  know," 


HANNAH  335 

When  Alicia  stopped,  Adam  went  on.  "Yes, 
very  extraordinary;  but  so  Dr.  Rayke  said,  in  his 
own  country  his  work  had  not  been  properly 
recognized.  But  here — after  the  lecture,  I  under- 
stand, he  is  to  be  given  the  Society's  gold 
medal. ' ' 

"Gold  medal,"  repeated  Mrs.  Bonham. 

"Yes,  on  account,  I  believe,  of  some  very  re- 
markable discoveries  he  has  made — through  ex- 
periments." Adam,  saying  this,  looked  extraor- 
dinarily important. 

"I  didn't  hear  about  the  experiments,"  said 
Mrs.  Vearing.  "I  don't  think  Dr.  Eayke  .  .  . 
What  were  they  about,  Adam?" 

"I  couldn't — it's  a  subject — I  couldn't  ..." 
murmured  Adam. 

But  Georgina  could:  Georgina  could  and  did. 
She  burst  into  speech:  she  found  herself  telling 
Alicia  what  Augustine  had  told  her ;  telling  Alicia, 
and  also  Adam.  A  year  ago — a  month  ago — she 
would  have  died  sooner  than  have  referred  re- 
motely to  the  subject  of  Herr  Reisen's  experi- 
ments within  earshot  of  Adam.  But  now  what 
did  it  matter  to  her  that  Adam  was  a  man?  All 
that  mattered  was  that  there  were  men  like  Herr 
Reisen,  and  that  other  men  ought  to  know.  It 
was  all  the  better  that  Adam  was  a  man. 

She  told  them  everything,  all  she  knew;  about 
the  eight  girls  on  whom  Herr  Reisen  had  experi- 
mented, and  that  one  was  only  twelve.  She  told 
them  with  the  stimulus  of  the  coffee  in  her  brain, 
and  the  thought  of  Dorrie  in  her  heart.  But  she 


336  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

did  not  tell  them  about  Dorrie :  that  was  the  only 
thing  she  did  not  tell  them. 

And  when  she  had  finished  telling  them,  they 
said  they  did  not  believe  her.  Not  in  so  many 
words;  but  Alicia  said  she  must  have  been  mis- 
taken, and  Adam  said  she  must  have  misunder- 
stood ;  and  the  reasons  they  gave  were  that  Bayke 
had  gone  up  to  see  Professor  Eeisen  and  that  a 
society  whose  name  Alicia  could  not  pronounce 
was  to  present  him  with  a  gold  medal. 

To  be  sure,  Adam  remembered,  Rayke  had  re- 
ferred vaguely — but  it  was  because  animals — you 
couldn't  be  sure — the  results 

"And  I'm  sure  if  Dr.  Rayke  approved,"  said 
Alicia,  "that  it  was  for  the  girls'  own  good." 

"And  the  good,"  added  Adam,  "of  humanity." 

And  then 

Georgina  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  the 
thing  inside  her  that  she  had  tried  to  hold  to- 
gether was  somehow  outside  her,  and  she  could  not 
hold  it.  And  constrained  by  the  thing  she  told 
them  about  Dorrie.  She  had  never  meant  to  tell 
them.  But  now  she  told  them. 

And  when  she  had  told  them,  again — not  in  so 
many  words — but  again  they  said  they  did  not 
believe  her.  They  said  what  the  French  specialist 
had  said.  They  did  not  shrug  their  shoulders  or 
turn  out  the  palms  of  their  hands ;  they  were  very 
much  distressed,  and  they  were  very,  very  kind; 
but  they  said,  as  he  had  said,  that  she  must  be 
mistaken,  that  it  must  have  been  some  other  way, 
that  after  all  there  was  no  positive  proof.  They 


HANNAH  337 

said  it  because  they  were  so  good,  but  they  said 
it.  They  were  very  good  and  terribly  distressed 
and  overflowing  with  sympathy.  But  they  did  not 
believe  her. 

Mrs.  Vearing  wept,  and  came  and  put  her  arms 
round  Georgina,  and  said,  what  could  she  do? 
Georgina  did  not  weep;  she  made  a  little  move- 
ment to  try  and  get  rid  of  Mrs.  Vearing's  arms, 
and  she  did  not  answer. 

And  then  the  Vicar  said  something  about 
Christian  fortitude,  and  Georgina  turned  on  the 
Vicar. 

4 'Don't  dare  to  talk  to  me  of  Christian  fortitude ! 
It's  all  very  well  for  things — for  ordinary  things 
— for  things  that  don't  matter.  But  this  .  .  . 
Dorrie  ..." 

All  of  a  sudden  it  struck  Georgina  that  there 
was  something  extraordinarily  funny  about 
Christian  fortitude,  that  it  was  all  extraordinarily 
funny;  the  experiments,  and  Dorrie,  and  Rayke 
going  up  to  London,  and  everything.  And,  being 
funny,  it  was  a  thing  to  laugh  at.  Gaorgina 
laughed. 

She  laughed  and  laughed;  she  shook  and 
screamed  with  laughter ;  the  peals  of  her  laughter 
rang  through  the  room  and  through  the  house ;  she 
laughed  till  she  cried.  She  laughed  literally  till 
she  cried,  for  suddenly  she  was  sobbing;  and  in 
her  sobbing  she  screamed  as  she  had  screamed  in 
her  laughter.  Then  the  laughter  came  back ;  and 
then  the  sobs;  and  then  again  the  laughter;  till  at 
last  she  was  still ;  exhausted,  motionless,  rigid. 


338  THE  THUNDEEBOLT 

CHAPTER  IX 

Three  things  were  known  that  evening  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  Stottleham.  The 
first  was  that  dear  Mrs.  Bonham  had  been  sud- 
denly seized  with  f  aintness  and  was  lying  ill  at  the 
Vicarage.  The  second  was  that  Miss  Bonham  had 
influenza  and  was  lying  ill  in  London.  The  third 
was  that  Mrs.  Bonham  had  sent  her  love  to  Ludo- 
vic  Pottlebury. 

There  was  no  dispute  as  to  the  main  facts  of 
these  three  pieces  of  news,  but  there  was  consider- 
able discussion  as  to  details.  Dissension  was 
acute  on  the  point  of  Mrs.  Bonham 's  exact  message 
to  Mr.  Pottlebury,  some  maintaining  that  the 
greeting  sent  was  "kind  love,"  others  declaring 
that  it  was  love  without  any  qualification.  The  ad- 
vocates of  love  pure  and  simple  finally  carried 
the  day;  it  was  conceded  that  dear  Mrs.  Bonham 's 
kindness  could  hardly  be  supposed  to  run  into 
adjectives  when  it  flowed  beyond  the  precincts  of 
her  own  set. 

There  was  also  some  difference  of  opinion  as  to 
which  of  the  spare  rooms  at  the  Vicarage  Mrs. 
Bonham  was  in.  There  were  those  who  asserted 
that  she  was  in  the  best  room  at  the  front  of  the 
house:  others  said  no,  she  was  in  the  smaller  one 
at  the  back  because  it  was  quieter.  Some  had  seen 
a  nurse  at  the  front  window;  others  knew  that 
there  was  no  nurse,  and  that  if  by  any  chance 
one  had  arrived  recently,  it  was  certainly  not  the 
front  window  she  would  be  looking  out  of. 


HANNAH  339 

As  to  Dorrie,  discussion  was  confined  to  the 
question  of  the  hotel  in  London  in  which  she 
was  ill.  The  Maiden?  Certainly  not;  it  was 
Claridge  's.  But  it  could  not  be  Claridge  's  because 
it  was  known  as  a  fact  that  it  was  the  Ritz.  As 
to  the  influenza  itself,  there  was  no  dispute;  it 
was  agreed  that  Dorrie  had  it ;  and,  mild  in  char- 
acter at  the  beginning  of  the  evening,  it  was  of  the 
most  malignant  type  by  bedtime. 

But  Dorrie  really  had  influenza.  Though  Mrs. 
Bonham,  struggling  with  the  interrogatory  impor- 
tunities of  Patricia  Pottlebury,  had  supposed  her- 
self to  be  telling  a  lie  when  she  gave  influenza 
as  the  cause  of  Dorrie 's  indisposition,  it  was  truth 
nevertheless  which  Patricia,  on  Mrs.  Bonham 's 
authority,  set  floating  through  the  waters  of 
Stottleham.  Dorrie  had  influenza,  and  it  was  the 
one  thing,  when  Georgina  heard  of  it,  for  which 
she  felt  she  could  be  thankful.  It  was  a  respect- 
able, mentionable  disease,  the  sort  of  disease  as 
to  which,  as  the  Vicar  had  said,  you  could  exercise 
Christian  fortitude. 

Was  it  about  Dorrie  he  had  said  it?  Georgina 
remembered  the  Vicar  saying  something  about 
Christian  fortitude,  but  she  did  not  remember 
clearly  what  had  led  up  to  his  saying  it,  and  after 
he  had  said  it  she  did  not  remember  anything  at 
all. 

For  a  week  she  lay  in  the  Vicarage  spare  bed- 
room (Miss  Truefitt  and  her  faction  were  right; 
it  was  the  one  at  the  back) ;  for  a  week  she  lay 
there  without  remembering  or  knowing  anything 


340  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

at  all;  and  for  another  week  she  lay  there  getting 
better.  She  was  tenderly  nursed  by  Mrs.  Vear- 
ing;  she  was  unremittingly  enquired  after  by  all 
the  Stottleham  sets;  even  Miss  Truefitt  called  re- 
peatedly, though,  not  being  in  Mrs.  Bonham's  set, 
she  did  not  leave  a  card. 

And  while  Georgina  lay  ill  at  Stottleham  tended 
by  Mrs.  Vearing,  Dorrie  lay  ill  in  London  tended 
by  Hannah. 

CHAPTER  X 

Every  morning  while  Dorrie  lay  ill,  Hannah 
brought  in  a  bouquet  of  beautiful  flowers.  "From 
Mr.  Fortescue,"  said  Hannah. 

Dorrie  loved  the  bouquets :  she  had  them  divided 
into  smaller  bouquets  and  placed  all  about  the 
room,  so  that  she  could  see  some  of  them  which- 
ever way  she  looked. 

"But  I  wish  he'd  write,"  she  said  from  time  to 
time. 

"You  know,  Miss  Dorrie,  the  doctor  said  you 
wasn't  to  have  letters." 

"I  never  heard  him." 

"He  told  me,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"I'm  not  so  very  ill." 

"No,  Miss  Dorrie,  but  your  temperature's 
high." 

"If  it  goes  down,  I  suppose  ..." 

"When  it  goes  down,  Miss  Dorrie,  you  can  have 
all  the  letters  you  please.  And  Mr.  Fortescue  can 
come  up  one  day  and  see  you. ' ' 


HANNAH  341 

"I  don't  know  ...  I  almost  think  I  don't  want 
to  see  him  till  my  lip's  well." 

"I  shouldn't  worry  about  my  lip,  Miss  Dorrie." 

They  were  right  at  Stottleham;  Dome's  in- 
fluenza was  severe;  and  Hannah  was  right  when 
she  told  Dorrie  that  her  temperature  was  high. 
It  seemed  to  be  high  for  a  long  time,  and  all  the 
time  it  was  high  he*  head  hurt  dreadfully;  but 
always,  while  the  high  temperature  was  there  and 
the  dreadful  aching  head,  there  too  was  Hannah, 
with  a  basin  of  cool  water,  and  a  cool  wet  handker- 
chief to  lay  upon  the  head.  Then  the  temperature 
dropped,  and  the  doctor  told  Hannah  that  now  was 
the  time  to  take  care  because  of  the  weakness 
wrought  by  the  influenza  on  the  heart,  and  that 
Hannah  must  be  watchful. 

Hannah  was  watchful,  and  day  after  day  Dorrie 
grew  stronger;  and  as  she  grew  stronger  she 
talked  more  about  Len. 

"Can't  I  soon  have  letters?" 

"I  should  say  so,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"I  shall  ask  the  doctor." 

"Very  well,  Miss  Dorrie." 

The  next  morning  Dorrie  asked  the  doctor  if 
she  could  have  letters,  and  the  doctor  said :  ' '  Cer- 
tainly." 

"I'll  tell  Mr.  Fortescue  myself,"  said  Hannah, 
"this  afternoon." 

"But  he  brings  the  flowers  in  the  morning,  and 
they've  come." 

"He's  wrote  and  said  he  would  like  to  come  up 
and  see  me  this  afternoon,  Miss  Dorrie." 


342  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

For  a  time  Dorrie  said  nothing ;  then  she  called 
Hannah. 

"Nurse!" 

Hannah  went  to  her. 

"Nurse,  when  you  see  him — it  might  be,  before 
my  lip's  better,  a  long  time — I  mean  a  long  time 
to  wait  to  see  him  when  I  want  to  see  him  so 
badly." 

"It  might  be  a  week  or  two,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"I  don't  think  I  could  hardly  wait  a  week  or  two. 
So,  Nurse " 

"Yes,  Miss  Dorrie  dear." 

"You  might  tell  him — and  see  if  he  minds." 

"Mind?    As  if  he'd  mind!" 

"If  he  minds — I  couldn't  bear  it  if  he  was  to 
mind,  if  he  was  to  care  ever  such  a  little  bit  less." 

"As  if  he'd  mind!" 

"Nurse." 

"Yes,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"If  he  was  to  leave  off  loving  me,  I'd  rather 
die." 

"I  know  you  would,  my  lamb.  But  there !  as  if 
he'd  mind!" 

"He  might.  But  then — he  mightn't.  But 
almost — yes,  I'd  like  you  to  tell  him." 

Just  before  Hannah  went  to  see  Len,  Dorrie 
said  it  again,  that  she  would  like  Hannah  to  tell 
him.  And  Hannah  said  she  would. 

She  said  it  smiling,  and  smiling  she  went  out 
of  the  room;  but  dread  was  in  her  heart.  For 
was  Len  a  prince?  what  Hannah  called  a  prince? 
She  did  not  know,  but  she  was  going  to  know  now, 


HANNAH  343 

before  she  went  back  to  Dorrie.  She  had  written 
to  him  to  come  just  for  that  very  reason,  that  she 
had  to  know  whether  or  not  he  was  a  prince.  Han- 
nah had  written  to  Len  to  ask  him  to  come,  and 
he  had  come,  but  dread  was  in  her  heart.  For  he 
had  not  been  before  since  Dorrie  had  been  ill;  he 
did  not  even  know  that  she  had  been  very  ill.  And 
he  had  sent  no  flowers.  It  was  Hannah  who  had 
ordered  the  flowers  to  be  sent. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Len  was  in  the  sitting-room  waiting  for  Hannah 
and  Hannah  was  sorry  for  him  when  she  saw  his 
face. 

For  half  an  hour  they  talked  together,  and  most 
of  the  time  Len's  face  was  turned  away,  and  part 
of  the  time  Hannah  was  on  her  knees.  And  then 
Len  went  away. 

Hannah,  when  he  had  gone,  did  not  at  once  go 
back  to  Dorrie. 

He  was  not  a  prince;  she  could  not  go  back  at 
once :  before  she  went  back  she  had  to  master  her 
passionate  disappointment,  her  bitter  contempt  for 
Len.  She  went  up  to  her  bedroom  and  stood  there 
while  the  iron  entered  into  and  seared  her  soul. 
The  few  possessions  she  had  brought  with  her 
helped  in  the  searing,  since  they  all  spoke  to  her 
of  Dorrie.  There  was  Dorrie 's  face  looking  out 
from  the  photograph  frame;  there  was  the  Bible 
with  leaves  torn  by  Dorrie;  the  pincushion  with 


344  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

stains  of  ink  spilled  by  Dorrie ;  and  the  blue  glass 
bottle  on  the  mantelpiece. 

She  stood  and  thought  of  Len.  She  had  no 
mercy  on  him.  She  did  not  even  allow  herself  to 
conceive  that  he  might  be  right,  that  Lady  Clemen- 
tina might  be  right.  Risk !  Children !  No  right 
to  run  the  risk!  And  Dorrie?  Dome's  tender 
heart?  "If  he  was  to  leave  off  loving  me,  I'd 
rather  die."  Hannah  knew  it,  knew  Dorrie  had 
spoken  the  truth;  what  at  the  moment  Dorrie 
believed  to  be  the  truth ;  what  in  the  time  to  come 
would  prove  to  be  truth  indeed. 

For  Len  was  representative ;  as  Hannah  put  it, 
''they're  all  alike."  If  Len  failed,  Len  who  had 
known  Dorrie  in  the  fulness  of  her  health  and 
beauty,  there  was  none  who  would  not  fail.  A 
year  ago  if  Len,  for  any  reason,  while  that  health 
and  beauty  was  still  untouched,  had  failed,  Hannah 
would  indeed  have  scouted  him;  her  anger  would 
have  been  hot,  her  scorn  unmeasured;  but  there 
would  have  been  no  despair  to  flood  scorn  and 
anger  with  bitterness.  She  would  have  said: 
' '  There 's  many  and  many  a  one  '11  want  her  better 
worth  having  than  him.  And  so  young  as  she  is, 
she'll  forget  him  by  and  by."  His  stupidity, 
crass  and  contemptible,  would  have  been  his  out- 
standing characteristic  in  Hannah's  estimation. 

But  now!  Now  the  onward  course  of  Dorrie 's 
life  would  be  a  path  only  of  humiliation:  there 
would  be  none  to  follow  Len.  And  when  she  knew, 
understood,  why  Len,  why  they  all  ...  "She 
must  never  know,"  said  Hannah. 


HANNAH  345 

The  words  were  fixed  in  Hannah 's  mind :  * '  She 
must  never  know":  and  side  by  side  with  them 
stood  words  of  Dorrie's:  "I'd  rather  die." 

She  stood  there  looking,  looking,  looking:  her 
eyes  were  on  the  blue  bottle  on  the  mantelpiece: 
God  alone  knows  what  with  her  inner  vision  she 
looked  at  as  she  stood  there  before  going  back  to 
Dorrie. 

But  her  face  was  dreadful:  haggard,  agonized, 
dreadful. 

Still  with  the  dreadful  face  she  went  back  to 
Dorrie's  room,  but  she  waited  a  moment  outside 
before  she  opened  the  door.  And  in  that  moment 
she  changed  her  face :  when  she  entered  the  room 
it  wore  a  radiant  smile. 

"Nurse,  have  you  seen  him?" 

"Of  course  I  see  him." 

"And — what  did  he  say,  Nurse?" 

"What  should  he  say,  Miss  Dorrie?" 

"Did  you  tell  him— about  this?"  Dorrie 
touched  her  lip. 

"I  told  him,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"And  he  said— what  did  he  say?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  what  he'd  say?  As  if  he 
could  say  anything  but  what  I  said  he'd  say!" 

"He  didn't  mind?" 

"Not  him." 

"  Oh ! "  Dorrie  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Oh,  I  'm  so 
glad.  He  is  a  darling,  isn't  he?" 

"He  is,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"And  he '11  come?" 

"Soon  as  you're  better." 


346  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

" And  he '11  write?" 
"At  once.  Miss  Dorrie." 

"Then  to-morrow,  in  the  morning,  I'll  have  a 
letter?" 
" To-morrow  for  sure,  Miss  Dorrie." 


CHAPTER  XII 

The -doctor  looked  in  at  dusk. 

"All  right,  but  she's  been  a  little  upset,  hasn't 
she?  or  excited?" 

"A  little  excited,  sir." 

Hannah  was  anxious  to  know  whether  the  excite- 
ment might  have  a  serious  effect;  she  asked  the 
doctor  all  kinds  of  questions ;  she  was  particularly 
insistent  as  to  the  possibility  of  heart  failure. 
Was  there  still  a  risk  of  it? 

"I  don't  say  there  isn't,  though  I  don't  say  there 
is.  I  .  .  ." 

"But  it  wouldn't  be  out  of  the  way  if  .  .  .?" 

"Nothing  is  out  of  the  way  in  these  cases.  I 
should  watch  her  a  little." 

"I'll  watch  her  all  night,  sir." 

When  the  doctor  had  gone,  Dorrie  said: 
"Nurse,  come  and  sit  beside  me." 

Hannah  sat  beside  her. 

' '  Does  your  head  ache  at  all,  Miss  Dome  ?  I  've 
got  the  little  basin  here  and  the  handkerchief  ? ' ' 

"No,  my  head  doesn't  ache.  I'm  tired,  but  my 
head  doesn't  ache.  I  want  you  to  sit  there  and 
tell  me  about  my  darling  Len,  all  about  him ;  every- 


HANNAH  347 

thing  he  said,  and  what  he  looked  like,  and  if  he 
laughed." 

"He  laughed,  Miss  Dome,  when  I  told  him 
about  your  lip." 

"Did  he?  Really?  Then  I  know  he  didn't 
mind.  How  lovely  of  Len  to  laugh ! " 

Hannah  made  no  answer. 

"Nurse!" 

"Yes,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"If  Len  didn't  love  me  it  would  break  my 
heart," 

"I  know  it  would,  my  own." 

"I'd  rather  die  than  not  be  married  to  Len." 

"I  know,  my  little  lamb." 

"Tell  me  everything  he  said." 

Hannah  began,  and  paused  and  went  on  again, 
and  told  Dorrie  what  Len  had  not  said:  it  came 
quite  easily  after  the  first  few  sayings.  She  went 
on  till  Dorrie 's  breathing  became  quite  regular, 
till  it  seemed  as  if  Dorrie  might  fall  asleep.  Then 
she  said:  "The  doctor  left  some  medicine  for 
you,  Miss  Dorrie.  You  was  to  have  it  the  last 
thing." 

1  ( Oh,  must  I  have  it,  Nurse  ?  I  'm  tired  of  medi- 
cine. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  you — you  must,  Miss  Dorrie." 
Hannah  got  up.  "I'll  go  and  fetch  it." 

"Isn't  it  here?" 

"No,  Miss  Dorrie." 

"You  won't  be  gone  long?" 

"No,  not  long." 

Hannah  went  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs  to 


348  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

her  bedroom.  She  took  the  medicine  glass  with 
her  and  filled  it  and  returned. 

She  stood  by  Dorrie  's  bedside.    * '  Miss  Dorrie ! ' ' 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Dorrie;  and  then,  when  she 
had  emptied  the  glass:  "Medicine  bothers  me." 

"My  lamb." 

Hannah  put  her  arms  round  Dorrie,  held  her 
to  her  breast,  kissed  her.  "My  little  lamb,"  she 
said,  "my  own  little  one.  My  own  little  child!" 

She  kissed  Dorrie 's  face,  her  cheeks,  her  fore- 
head, the  marred  beauty  of  her  mouth. 

"Nurse,"  said  Dorrie,  "you  do  love  me." 

' l  My  little  one,  my  love  ..." 

Hannah 's  voice  broke,  but  Dorrie  did  not  notice 
the  break  in  it;  her  thoughts  had  fled  from  Han- 
nah. 

*  *  Only  not  so  much  as  Len, ' '  she  said.  Her  eyes 
closed. 

Dorrie  slept  quietly;  her  breathing  was  some- 
what feeble  and  grew  feebler.  Hannah  sat  by 
the  bed  and  looked  at  her.  There  was  the  night- 
light,  and  the  little  table  with  the  basin  and  hand- 
kerchief, and  the  stillness  of  the  night,  and  Dorrie 
lying  asleep  and  Hannah  watching  her.  Hannah's 
face  was  white — whiter  than  Dorrie 's.  Once  or 
twice  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  bent  over  Dorrie. 
Towards  the  dawn  she  fell  on  her  knees  beside 
the  bed  and  laid  her  head  and  her  arms  upon  the 
bedclothes,  and  all  the  bed  moved  with  her 
trembling.  Only  Dorrie  did  not  move. 

Hannah  sat  there  till  the  dawn  had  reached  the 
day.  When  it  was  light  she  rose,  bent  over  Dorrie, 


HANNAH  349 

touched  her,  laid  her  cheek  against  Dome's  face. 
Then  her  hand  sought  the  bell  and  rang  it,  again 
and  again. 

People  came  at  last,  a  half-dressed  chamber- 
maid, a  porter  rubbing  his  eyes.  The  doctor — 
they  must  'phone  at  once  for  the  doctor. 

When  she  had  sent  for  the  doctor,  Hannah  went 
back  into  Dome's  room  and  back  to  Dome's  bed. 
She  bent  over  the  bed  and  took  the  form  of  Dome 
in  her  arms  and  pressed  it  to  her  bosom  and  held 
it  there.  She  was  holding  Dorrie  thus  when  the 
doctor  came. 

CHAPTEE  XIII 

Mrs.  Bonham,  arriving  next  day,  in  answer  to 
Hannah's  telegram,  was  met  by  Hannah.  In  the 
telegram  Hannah  had  said :  ' '  Come  at  once, ' '  and 
Mrs.  Bonham,  terrified,  had  risen  from  her  bed 
and  come.  Mrs.  Vearing  came  with  her. 

Both  Mrs.  Vearing  and  Mrs.  Bonham,  since  Mrs. 
Bonham  had  been  well  enough  to  be  anxious,  had 
been  anxious  about  Dorrie,  but  their  anxiety  had 
not  been  nearly  great  enough  to  suggest  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  a  telegram  as  Hannah's. 

Mrs.  Bonham,  arriving,  said  to  Hannah:  "Is 
—is  she  .  .  .?" 

And  Hannah  said:     "She's  gone." 

Mrs.  Vearing  went  out  of  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Bonham  sat  down  and  wept.  She  wept  with  all 
the  pain  and  the  grief  and  the  dread  of  the  last 
few  weeks  in  her  tears,  and,  because  the  flood  of 


350  THE  THUNDERBOLT 

her  suffering  found  a  flow,  her  tears  did  her  good. 
Then,  when  she  had  cried  for  a  long  time,  she 
asked  Hannah  to  tell  her  all  about  it,  and  Hannah 
told  her. 

She  told  her  that  Dorrie  had  seemed  much 
better,  was  better,  but  was  tired;  she  told  her 
how  she  had  sat  by  Dorrie  and  watched,  and  how 
at  the  dawn  Dorrie  had  seemed  very  still;  she 
told  her  how  the  doctor  had  warned  her  that  Dor- 
rie's  heart  might  fail,  and  how,  coming  as  soon 
as  he  could  be  fetched,  he  said  that  it  had  failed. 
She  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Bonham  the  lies  about  Len 
that  she  had  told  to  Dorrie,  but  she  told  her  what 
Len  had  really  said. 

When  Hannah  had  finished  telling  everything, 
Mrs.  Bonham  said:  "It  would  have  broken  her 
heart." 

Hannah  said:  "She  didn't  ever  know  as  he 
had  cast  her  off." 

Mrs.  Bonham  sat  for  a  while,  still,  and  saying 
nothing;  then  she  looked  at  Hannah  and  said: 

"I  don't  know  ...  it  may  be  the  mercy  of  God 
...  it  may  be  there  was  no  other  way. ' ' 

1  'It  may  be,"  said  Hannah. 

Mrs.  Bonham  got  up  from  her  seat ;  as  she  stood 
she  tottered.  She  looked  at  Hannah  and  said: 
"Oh,  Hannah!"  She  came  close  to  Hannah  and 
put  her  head  down  on  Hannah's  shoulder. 

Hannah  put  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Bonham. 

When  Mrs.  Bonham  had  gone  to  bed  Hannah  sat 
thinking. 


HANNAH  351 

Besides  the  inventions  about  Len,  there  was  an- 
other thing  that  she  had  not  told  Mrs.  Bonham. 
She  had  thought  that  perhaps  the  doctor  might 
find  it  out  and  tell  Mrs.  Bonham  and  all  the  world ; 
but  the  doctor  had  not  found  out  anything.  Han- 
nah knew,  since  it  was  evening  and  a  whole  day 
had  passed,  that  it  had  not  entered  into  the 
doctor's  mind  that  there  was  anything  to  find 
out. 

The  thought  in  her  mind  as  she  sat  alone  after 
Mrs.  Bonham  had  gone  to  bed  was,  dared  she  tell! 
The  bottle  still  stood  on  the  mantelpiece,  nearly 
empty  now  instead  of  three  parts  full.  She  looked 
at  it  and  wondered.  Dared  she  tell!  If  she  could 
have  been  hanged  (she  called  it  hung)  it  would 
have  been  a  joy  to  Hannah.  But  the  joy  of  hang- 
ing could  not  be  reached  except  by  things  coming 
out.  And  things,  she  felt,  must  never  come  out. 

If  the  doctor — if  through  the  doctor  things  had 
been  made  known,  Hannah's  way  would  have  been 
plain  and,  from  Hannah's  point  of  view,  easy. 
But  since  the  doctor  had  shed  no  light,  now,  for 
evermore,  so  it  seemed  to  her,  there  must  be  dark- 
ness. Because  darkness  was  best  for  Dorrie. 
For  only  one  or  two  people  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened to  Dorrie,  but  not  all  the  world.  And  Len 
knew,  and  Lady  Clementina  knew,  that  Len  had 
cast  Dorrie  off.  But  nobody  else,  save  only  Han- 
nah and  Mrs.  Bonham.  And  if  ...  Did  Hannah 
dare  to  confess,  all  the  world  would  know— or 
might  know — of  Dorrie 's  humiliation.  For  at 
trials  things  came  out.  Hannah  had  a  horror  of 


352  THE  THUNDEEBOLT 

judges  and  of  lawyers:  they  were  sure  to  find 
things  out. 

And  if  she  just  followed  Dorrie?  told  nothing, 
but  just  followed  her?  Hannah's  thought  hugged 
the  idea,  then  abandoned  it.  She  must  not  follow 
Dorrie,  because  then  too  things  might  come  out. 
For  there  would  be  the  coroner — an  inquest,  and 
coroners  also  always  found  things  out. 

To  both  of  these  ways  of  escape  there  was  but 
one  alternative;  if  the  way  of  death  would  mean 
too  great  a  risk,  there  was  only  one  way  for  her  to 
take — she  must  give  her  life  to  looking  after  Mrs. 
Bonham.  Hannah,  pondering  long,  decided  that 
the  risk  was  too  great ;  there  must  be  no  smallest 
chance  of  anything  coming  out.  So  it  must  be  life 
and  taking  care  of  Mrs.  Bonham.  Nothing  else 
was  possible.  But  the  darkness  of  the  night  was 
as  light  to  the  darkness  in  the  heart  of  Hannah. 

It  was  in  1911  that  Hannah  made  her  choice. 

Herr  Beisen  is  no  longer  either  in  England  or  in 
Germany,  no  longer  in  any  country  belonging  to 
the  visible  world. 

Len  is  married.  Lady  Clementina's  daughter- 
in-law  has  family  and  money  and  good  looks  and 
all  that  Lady  Clementina  and  the  relations  wanted 
in  Len's  wife:  but  there  is  something  she  has  not, 
something  which  the  daughter-in-law  that  Lady 
Clementina  did  not  want,  had,  and  Lady  Clemen- 
tina misses  that  something. 

Georgina  sold  the  Beeches  and  left  Stottleham. 
She  is  estranged  from  Bayke,  but  she  sees  Mrs. 


HANNAH  353 

Vearing  sometimes.  In  her  new  neighbourhood 
there  are  neighbours  who  like  to  be  asked  to  tea 
by  Mrs.  Bonham,  but  the  Mrs.  Bonham  they  have 
tea  with  is  not  the  Mrs.  Bonham  of  Stottleham. 
It  is  a  faint  little  satisfaction  to  Georgina  that 
Dorrie  died  of  an  ilm-ess  she  can  talk  about. 

Hannah  lives  with  her  and  is  faithful  with  un- 
failing faithfulness.  She  knows  that  Mrs.  Bon- 
ham has  a  heavy  burden  to  bear. 

But  Hannah  bears  a  heavier  burden  still. 


THE   END 


If  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  U6RABY  FAOUTY 


A     000125461     4 


